


Tomorrow, Let's not say Goodbye

by OneBlueNotebook



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), All minor characters have been aged up, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual relationship tags (if any) to be added later, Friendship/Love, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Same goes for warning tags, Trust, other TW to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-09-24 20:17:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17107430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneBlueNotebook/pseuds/OneBlueNotebook
Summary: "Would you do it all over again, if you could go back?" he asked, voice catching on every breath, his heart beating wildly in his throat.There wasn't a moment of delay."Yes, I would." was the quiet, steady reply.They were two lives, two souls, a lifetime apart.They crashed together from two ends of the world.And then, there was free-fall.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, here is my own self indulgent Banana Fish AU where everyone is still present, everything still happened, but now the tables have been turned around. 
> 
> Now, Ash and his past are on different sides of the war.  
> ________
> 
> This had been sitting on my drafts since November, and I just wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to go forward with. But, here I am! I hope that I don't ruin the idea for this story with my very unpredictable and oscillating bouts of creativity :"D  
> A big thank you to my friends [Sara](http://lynxash.tumblr.com) and [Angela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angela/pseuds/Angela), who cheered me on!
> 
> I plan this as a multichapter fic, and will add estimated chapter numbers later.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!

                                                    

 

Eiji’s 14 hour flight from Japan landed him at JFK at 4:30 am on a foggy morning sometime in May. He lugged his trolley and his heavy shoulder bag with his camera equipment inside through customs and checked out within another half an hour.  His hotel was all the way across in Manhattan, just a block or so away from the much talked about Central Park and Ibe-san had sounded pretty enthusiastic about managing to book Eiji rooms such close to all the major ‘ _touristy places of NYC_ ’ as he liked to call them. It was also quite close to the place Eiji would be temporarily working at, on an assignment that had piqued his interest from the moment Ibe-san had made the phone call about a month ago.

Eiji had been in the middle of another freelance project at Kyoto at the time. He and a couple of others had been covering the annual Inter Prefectural Athletic Meet for a national news channel over two weeks.

On hindsight, being near the tracks and fields and courts and the cheers of  a stadium full of audience, in the middle of the high strung tension of an upcoming competitive event, hadn’t been a very good idea. Eiji should’ve known that. The whole thing brought back waves of memories, both good and bad. But mostly bitter, painful ones. So many memories, stuff he’d thought he’d successfully buried deep within him. But in reality, that hadn’t worked out so well. Eiji’s ugly scars on his ankle, and his Achilles tendon, still seemed to ache as he stood poised with his camera in the hot afternoon sun by the tracks, capturing moments from a life that he’d left behind. A world that he’d stepped away from. Not by choice.

Anyway, the point was that, he wasn’t in a very good mood by the end of it. Ibe-san had called out of the blue, and given a proposal.

Eiji thought it funny at the time, the call gave him a sense of deja-vu. Almost a decade back, a similar call had come from this very person, and that one call had started it all. Shunichi Ibe had somehow pulled Eiji out of the dark place he had been at the time and shown him a new life. He had given Eiji his camera. Eiji hadn’t looked back ever since.

So of course, he had jumped at the chance. His assignment this time was a bit….. unusual. He would be helping a reporter, some guy named Chris Winston , on an undercover job. It required stealth, an ability to blend in, an adaptable personality. But most of all, an unknown, new face. Someone who wasn’t known even to the staff of the paper for which this reporter worked. Ibe-san had been cryptic about the details, and Eiji found that fishy. But he had given his word that the owner-cum-editor of this paper was his long time buddy Max, and he had full faith that Eiji would be perfect for the job, and that, he had told his friend as much. Eiji found that touching, and some of his feelings might have carried over his voice on the phone because Ibe-san had chuckled and told him, of course Eiji was good at his work, never ever you doubt that, got me? Besides, it’d be just like a vacation, with an exciting ‘adventure’ thrown in on the side, what do you say Ei-chan?

Eiji had agreed. And so, here he was.

He hailed a cab outside, loaded his bags in and cut through the streets of New York in the pre-dawn light. Eiji eyed the city with open curiosity, drinking in the little glimpses he could get through the traffic. His cabbie, a portly, elderly man, asked him with a laugh if he was a first time visitor here, to which Eiji simply smiled in reply. He knew in his heart that his inner photographer would have a field day exploring this place during his stay.

By the time he reached his hotel, the sky had brightened considerably. He called Ibe-san, to let him know that he had arrived safely. It went to voicemail after a couple of rings. He was probably sleeping.

Ibe-san had moved to New York permanently a year ago. He ran his own business here, dealing in photography supplies and equipment. Eiji still missed the monthly dinners when Ibe-san would come over to Eiji’s family home back in Izumo, but he had a good life here, which he had worked hard for. He was happy, and Eiji was happy for him. He had his own small apartment over his shop in Upper Manhattan, in which he was settled comfortably. Eiji often teased him about his lack of a stable social life, since Ibe-san tended to keep unhealthy work hours, but he jokingly brushed Eiji off. Kids shouldn’t meddle in their elders’ private lives so much, he’d say. Besides, im too old for all that Ei-chan.

Eiji wasn’t a kid, he should know, because he was nearly twenty six. And Ibe-san certainly wasn’t _elderly._ They had barely eight years between them.

Eiji left a voice message, carefully checked his equipment and decided that he’d get some new lenses from Ibe-san if the new job required a different set of them, since he still had no idea what kind of photo-shots he would be required to do.

He was tired, but not as sleepy as he’d thought he’d be, since a better part of the flight had been spent dozing on and off. Eiji thought he’d freshen up, get a coffee or something, and take a walk around.

His hotel really was bang in the middle of the city, Ibe-san was right on that, and he had glimpsed the vast expanse of Central Park on his way here through the blurry window of the cab. Eiji decided he’d start from there.

He grabbed a coffee and a couple of croissants from one of those 24/7 diners nearby, and headed towards the Park. This early in the morning, the city around him was waking up. Eiji saw a couple of newsstands with their owners blearily stocking up the shelves, fresh produce trucks heading downtown, a couple of homeless guys crouching around a fire in an alley, and a few joggers heading past him in a group. Eiji drew in a deep breath, soaking in the early morning scene. The fog from earlier had thinned out considerably, but hadn’t cleared up. Eiji bet it’d take another hour or so until it was fully gone.

He followed the joggers’ group and stepped into the park through one of the southern entrances. This section of the park was relatively empty. The usual morning crowd of health seekers had probably decided to get a late start because of the fog.

He walked along a deserted track, coffee in hand. The wooden benches on the sides were wet from the mist. A diffuse, lazy sunlight was just barely filtering through the mesh of branches overhead and created a dreamy patchwork on the ground in front of him. Eiji bunched his sweatshirt close to him and trudged on.

The joggers group had crossed ahead of him about fifteen minutes ago. Eiji enjoyed the stillness of the dawn, the peaceful sounds of the park around him. Birds waking up overhead, twigs cracking on the grass under his feet, the clean, misty air around him. It felt nice, especially, after the stale environment of the lengthy flight.

Eiji spotted him abruptly. Someone was sitting on a bench further up ahead. Eiji’s steps slowed down for some reason, and he took in the scene in front of him. The bench was in one of the relatively sunlit areas, throwing the occupant in sharper detail against the shaded, foggy background, and Eiji couldn’t help but stare. The man was young, probably around his own age. He was in profile, bending forwards with his elbows on his knees, feet casually crossed at the ankles, inspecting something held in his hands intently. He hadn’t heard Eiji approaching yet, the damp earth was probably muffling his footsteps. Eiji was within a couple of yards now, and observed the finer details. Something _made_ him do it. The man had pale, blond hair, which seemed to be almost _glowing_ in the diffuse, golden light. His dark blue overcoat and dark trousers contrasted with his red converse shoes. He held some kind of shining pendant in his hand, turning it over repeatedly, the silver chain dangling below his hands.

A twig crunched underneath Eiji’s shoes and the man’s head suddenly whipped around to him at the sound, and Eiji caught his breath.

 _Intense_ . That’s the first word that popped into Eiji’s head as he was pinned by the man’s narrowed, focused gaze. _Breathtaking_ was the close second. Eiji wasn’t a poet, he was a photographer, and his eyes framed the man in front of him through a photographer’s perspective, taking in the vivid, jade green eyes, the sharp features, the long strands of golden hair falling around his face, and suddenly, Eiji wished he had his camera with him.

There were a few beats of awkward silence, as Eiji was caught in mid step, unsure of whether to proceed after being caught ogling a stranger _by the said stranger_ , or whether to simply turn about and get the heck out of here. Especially since the man’s narrowed, rapidly moving gaze was flitting all over Eiji, catching for a moment on the unopened coffee, and Eiji somehow felt that he was being X-rayed. As if, this sharp eyed stranger was filing details about him within mere seconds that would’ve taken any other person hours to catch.

Whatever he found, _or assessed,_ seemed to be acceptable to him, his expression relaxed a fraction. Eiji released a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Uh….. I’m sorry if I startled you,” he blurted out. “I just…” he wracked his brain. Sorry I stared at you because you looked so very photogenic? I’d love to take your photo but I hope you won’t shoot me? _Wait, what?_

“Um….Coffee…” he brandished his styrofoam cup weakly. And felt quite a bit silly.

The man raised one eyebrow and his lips quirked a little in amusement.

“Well, go ahead.” he waved his arm vaguely to the empty space beside him.

Eiji decided to not over think it, and plopped down on the left with his cup and the paper bag of croissants.

The man returned to his examination of the necklace and now dangled it in front of his face against the light. Eiji had no idea what he possibly found so interesting in a simple silver chain with an oblong, _no, cylindrical_ metal pendant. This close, Eiji suddenly spotted faint dark red prints on the pads of the man’s fingers. Similar red patches were visible at places on the pendant and chain. Eiji suppressed an uneasy feeling but decided not to read too much into it.

It was probably red paint. Also, it was none of Eiji’s business. He took a bite of his croissant.

The man’s face had regained the intent, assessing look and he seemed to be figuring out a hard puzzle as he turned the pendant this way and that. His eyes looked slightly bloodshot, like someone who’d ran on insufficient sleep for more than a day, his hair was more unkempt than it looked from a distance, and his shoes bore mud prints on the heels and a darker patches of something else all over.

Nobody with a _normal_ , regular job sits out at foggy park benches at dawn, fully dressed, inspecting questionable looking silver chains and possibly puzzling out life’s mysteries.

Eiji decided to go for it.

“Rough night?”

The man looked up with a surprised glance, his eyes guarded, as if the last thing he’d expected was for Eiji to start an idle conversation. Or maybe he was cautious by nature, thought Eiji warily. That’d explain his intense scrutiny of him earlier.

There was a beat of silence, and Eiji almost started squirming under his focused gaze, struggling to keep his own face open in what he hoped was a friendly expression, until the man relaxed a bit. A humorless laugh escaped him as he turned his head away.

“Yeah, you could call it that,” he let out a tired sigh and pocketed the necklace. He stretched his legs in front, slouched back into a more relaxed posture, tipped his face slightly upwards and closed his eyes, all his movements fluid and graceful. But Eiji could tell that even though, to a casual observer, he’d appear to be relaxing unguardedly, there was a hint of a hidden, coiled strength to his body. As if he’d have no problem in reacting to a threat within a fraction of a second as ruthlessly as anyone actively watching out for it.

Eiji would blame his befuddled and jet lagged brain for what he said next.

“Looks like you could use some coffee.”

“Yeah, I sure could,” he sighed.

“Have mine then.”

The man’s eyes snapped open and he turned to look at Eiji curiously. Eiji tipped his gaze to the untouched coffee with a smile at the man’s look of surprise.

“....You serious?” he asked, skeptically. “You’re clearly jet lagged and I’m pretty sure you need it more than me.”

Eiji’s smile widened. He’d been _so_ right about the perceptiveness of this man.

He grinned a little. “Nah, I’m good, not really a coffee person,” he lied. “I was actually feeling more hungry, so…I…” he fished his paper bag open and looked into it “I ….uh….got four croissants…?” he frowned, why the heck did he get _four_ ? After finishing one, he now realised there was no way he could’ve eaten more than two, given the size of the buns. What made him think it was a good idea to get _four_?  

“On hindsight though, _four_ at once wasn’t the best idea...so...you could have one of these too if you like…” and he plucked one out and offered it to his companion, only to look up and find the man looking back at him with poorly concealed laughter, his eyes alight with mirth.

“Do you usually go around buying extra food and offering it to random strangers?” he asked, in a teasing voice. Eiji felt his face heat up. _Seriously, what was up with this guy and making him feel embarrassed at every ten seconds?_

Eiji suddenly felt four years old. And petty. _Fine_ , if the guy was too high and mighty to accept a damn _bread_ , then he didn’t deserve Eiji’s kindness. Let him perish. And be hungry.

“Fine, go hungry then, your wish,” he turned away sharply with an annoyed huff that he tried very hard to conceal and started chomping on the offered pastry himself. Seriously, he never _ever_ should’ve-

The sound of soft laughter made him turn, and Eiji caught himself staring again. The man was laughing, a genuine, bubbling laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. He looked... _beautiful_ , actually.

“Okay, fine,” he wheezed out. “I’ll accept the coffee and the supreme food you so graciously offered, o kind stranger,” his voice was still teasing, but Eiji found himself smiling along with the over dramatic apology of sorts. “The coffee because I actually need it, and the croissant because...well…. _someone_ didn’t know how much food they could possibly eat…”

And there went all the good opinion Eiji had formed in the last three seconds.

“Hey-” he began, indignantly and attempted to hide the paper bag but, too late, the man had already whisked it into his hands and fished out a bun. Also, he grabbed Eiji’s coffee before he could make a move for it. Eiji turned his face away to hide a smile.

They ate in comfortable silence, and Eiji could feel his companion relaxing even further as he sipped his coffee.

“You like it black too, huh?” he quipped, surprised. Eiji nodded with a smile. He didn’t know why, but that simple coincidence made him… happy.

“Hey, how did you know I was jet lagged?” he asked curiously.

The man didn’t reply, instead, he leaned forward and pulled out a paper from the front pocket of Eiji’s sweatshirt. His boarding pass. _Oh_.

Eiji remembered stuffing it in randomly once he exited the airport.

“It was practically falling outside while you were…... _stalking_ upto me, I’m surprised it stayed put for this long,” he had a sly grin pasted on his face. _That little-_

“Excuse me, I definitely do not _stalk-”_ Eiji squacked in protest.

“Tokyo to NYC!” he cut Eiji off and whistled in surprise. “No wonder you’re jetlagged.” He tucked the paper back into Eiji’s pocket.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping it off instead of, you know, _feeding stray people?_ ” he finished, with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He looked so _smug_ , goddammit. And _very_ pleased with himself.

Eiji narrowed his eyes at him, trying to stop his conflicting emotions from showing. He was having second opinions about New York. And the people who lived here.

“I don’t like you.” he stated. And was met with an even wider grin.

“Anyway, enough about me. What exactly were you doing here, all dressed and stuff? And, what’s with the necklace? Got dumped?” asked Eiji, a little meanly. Though, he was itching to know whether his assumption about the red prints ( _blood_ , his brain supplied helpfully) had been correct. But that was evidently not a good question.

The man’s expression closed off, and Eiji regretted the question instantly.

“Dumped? Heh, I wish it were so….instead of….” he looked off to the other side, his eyes losing their glow from moments ago.

“Im sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything, its none of my business-”

“Stop apologising,” he said, his voice gentle. “You didn’t know.”

They lapsed into silence for a few moments.

“So….. I’m guessing you’re here for work? Or visiting someone? Or-” he paused and gave Eiji a critical once over, “Are you going to college here?”

Dammit. _College? Seriously?_ Eiji knew for a fact that he looked younger than his age, but _come on_ ….

Eiji couldn’t help but test him.

“What makes you think I’m not on vacation?” he directed a challenging gaze at the guy. He saw through Eiji’s bait and smiled.

“Easy. if you were on vacation here, you wouldn’t have had time for chatting idly with a stranger at six in the morning, away from your hotel. You’d most likely have been with your companions, or busy glossing over itineraries, since this is most probably your first visit here. Or at least catching up on your missed sleep. You’d be time bound, which you clearly aren’t,” he paused, taking in Eiji’s growing smile, laced with surprise.

“And I’m right, aren’t I, _Eiji Okumura_?”

Eiji’s insides did a flip when he heard his name being called out by this stranger, his brain catching up with the fact that the guy had clearly seen it from the boarding pass.

“Yes, you are,” he said, a little faintly. “But you are wrong in one of your guesses.” Eiji cleared his throat. “I, am _not_ in college.” he stated, with emphasis. “In fact, I’m probably older than you ….uh-” and here he stumbled, because he didn’t know the man’s name yet. He noticed Eiji’s unspoken question, and said, “Ash Callenreese. That’s ….that’s my name.” For some reason, his voice caught on his own name in a strange fashion, as if he wasn’t used to saying it out loud that often.

“Okay, then. You should know, I am probably _older_ than you are, Ash,” Eiji continued in a pompous voice, that made Ash grin. Eiji liked it.

“Well that’s great. At least now I won’t have to worry about my country exploiting _underage_ labour from foreign nations.” he was grinning again.

Eiji was just about to speak, an indignant retort on his lips, when his phone rang.

Ibe-san’s name was on the display.

He switched over to Japanese and greeted him. Ibe-san’s excited voice floated over.

_Yes, he had reached safely, found the hotel. No he wasn’t tired that much, the flight was okay. He had all his equipment and should he bring them over to the newspaper office later today? Alright, he’d meet Ibe-san in front of the said address at two in the afternoon and they’d head over together. Yes, he had already called Okaa-san and let her know that he had arrived. Alright he’d see Ibe-san later then._

“Work?” asked Ash. he looked content, and noticeably less haggard now, after getting coffee and food into him. Eiji was glad he had offered.

“Yeah. I’ll have to meet a friend and be at the office in the afternoon.”

Ash nodded absently and stretched, rolling his shoulders and arms above. His jacket rode up a little, and Eiji caught a flash of a sleek, black metallic thing tucked away at Ash’s belt. _A gun._

Ash noticed his stare and immediately, his whole body became tense, eyes guarded as he looked at Eiji. There was an irritated scowl on his face, which was quickly smothered away. Eiji felt that it wasn’t directed at him, rather, at himself. As if, it was his own fault that Eiji had seen the gun. Which, technically, _it was._

Eiji didn’t know what to make of it. That Ash had a gun and he could possibly, no _definitely_ shoot….it didn’t really seem strange, even for a second. In fact, Eiji had almost expected something to slip, not in the form of a gun, but…..anything really.

There was something about this young man here that screamed _extraordinary_. It frustrated Eiji that he had still been unable to figure out what.

The gun seemed important to ash. Eiji didn’t know how he could tell, maybe it was the defensive posture Ash had assumed in mere seconds, maybe it was the tense, tight expression on his face, as if he was waiting for Eiji to drop the other shoe, or scream, or run, or both. Ash looked almost….worried. And that's what prompted Eiji forwards.

“Is that a real gun?”

“Yeah….” Ash sounded a little confused and _of course_ it was a real gun. This was _America_ , for God’s sake and Eiji felt extremely stupid for asking that. But hell, he _needed_ to know.

“In Japan, guns are illegal. Only model guns are used. This is the first time I’ve seen one up close.” Eiji’s eyes dropped to the hidden weapon.

“May I see it for a moment?” as soon as the question was out, Eiji grimaced internally.  Oh god, what was he _thinking?_  You can’t just _ask_ for someone’s gun like that? _Especially_ Ash’s…. Now he was gonna get mad and possibly shoot Eiji right in the middle of-

“Sure.”

Ash didn’t sound mad, just a bit cautious, and tensed. Eiji tried to quiet down his thumping heart.

Ash looked around them once, scouting out for anyone in direct line of vision. It was by sheer luck that their bench was off to the side, a little away from the walking track, and also, that the area was relatively empty still now.

Ash pulled it out with practiced ease and presented the wooden handle to Eiji.

It was…. Very heavy. Heavier than a weapon of that size apparently looked. It was warm from being pressed up for long against body heat.

Eiji turned it over carefully, noting the sleek, polished exterior, the parts clean and obviously well cared for. The handle had faint imprints of a firm grip, as if it had belonged to the user for a very long time and had permanently been moulded to the shape of his hand.

It was a weapon that was clearly used regularly.

Eiji suppressed a shiver. He knew Ash was watching him intently. He didn’t know what sort of response would be appropriate. There were a million questions zipping around in his head. He decided to go for a frank reply.

“It’s ….really heavy. I didn’t know guns were this heavy.”

There must’ve been something in his voice that made Ash drop the defensive way he’d been holding himself. He snorted a little.

“Yeah. that’s generally how guns are. It’s a Smith and Wesson .367 Magnum. Kinda outdated, but I’ve always liked it.”

Eiji handed it back to him and Ash tucked it away. They stared at each other for a moment.  Eiji’s heartbeat sped up. The next question was far more important, and Ash seemed to brace himself for it.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ash was silent. Eiji could almost feel the gears turning in his head. He didn’t look away, instead, simply waited.

Eiji felt he already knew the answer to what he was about to ask. He looked dead into Ash’s jade green eyes and asked, “Have you ever….killed a person?”

There wasn’t a second of delay.

“Yes.” Ash answered quietly. His voice was steady.

“Okay,” Eiji blinked, a little breathless. “Wow. I see.”

“You really _are_ a kid, aren’t you?” he asked, but Eiji detected the amusement hidden in his voice.

“Well, I don't know,” Eiji coughed. “ _You’re_ the one with the heavy-ass gun. You tell me.” and now Ash laughed. It was quiet, but it was genuine. And with that, the tense mood between them cleared up.

They sat in a comfortable silence and watched the morning crowd slowly trickle into the park. Ash’s phone pinged and he pulled it up. He read the message and let out an annoyed sigh.

“Someone calling?”

“Yeah. It’s….let’s just say, my…. _roommate_.” he squirmed a little.

“Oh. I see.”

Neither moved. They sat side by side, looking at the distance.

Eiji knew he should be getting back to the hotel. Catch up on his sleep, like, _really_ , get some rest, because now he was beginning to feel the exhaustion creeping up. But he didn’t want to get up. Not really.

He sneaked a glance at his companion. _Ash_ , his brain reminded him. Was it his real name? Eiji doubted it suddenly. But unfortunately, Eiji had had enough surprises for one day. _And quite possibly exhausted his luck._

Ash had been willing to show him his gun, but Eiji wasn’t sure a dispute over his identity would be forgiven.

Did it matter? He was not likely to come across this guy ever again in his life. New York was a big city. The moment he stepped away from this little sunlit bench where they’d shared breakfast and Eiji touched a gun for the first time, it would be over. It might not even seem like this meeting ever happened. Eiji didn’t want to complicate it by asking, _hey Ash, is that your real name? Are you really you?_

“You know you’re staring at me, right?” Ash asked quietly, a little teasing, without turning his head. He was looking at a group of cyclists going along the perimeter on the far side from where they were sitting. His lips were curved up in a smile. Eiji found he didn’t mind being caught.

He would always be Ash to him, Eiji decided. He’d remember this version him, whoever he might be otherwise, at other times, in other places . It would be Ash Callenreese, a golden haired young man with eyes like jade and a laughter that bubbled and made his eyes crinkle, who carried a heavy gun and liked black coffee, and teased Eiji at the smallest chance. Ash, who had shown Eiji his gun and called Eiji’s name and joked about Eiji looking like a kid. Ash was great.

“It was really nice meeting you, Ash.”

He turned back to Eiji. There must’ve been something in the way Eiji said it, because Ash was looking at him strangely. It must’ve been a trick of the light, because Eiji thought his face looked warm and his green gaze was a little intense.

“You too, _Eiji_.” he said Eiji’s name with a lilt, a subtle accent. It sounded nice.

“You’re tired. You need to get some rest.” he added. And _of course_ he knew. Ash was the most observant person Eiji had met till date.

“Yeah…. I’ll-” Eiji stood up forcefully, gathered the empty paper cup and bag, and stood a step away. “I’ll be, uh…. I’ll be going now.”

“Take care. And enjoy your stay here. Or work. Or actually, er….both.” and Ash looked sheepish at the fumbling.

Eiji laughed. “Yep, gonna have to show my bosses that this _underage kid_ is to be taken seriously, you know?”

“....Sure.” Ash looked impish. “They’re _definitely_ gonna believe the _underage_ kid.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“You know you set yourself up for that one.” and now he was grinning. _The smug bastard._ Eiji was struck with a sudden thought. He extended his hand and asked silently for Ash’s. Ash did, a little surprised. Eiji turned his hand over in his own and there were those little red splotches on Ash’s fingertips. Faint, but there. Eiji didn’t have any more doubts as to what the red thing actually was. Ash noticed them now and looked up at Eiji, his eyes wide.

“Remember to clean them up when you get home, yes?” Eiji said, gently. He didn’t ever want to push Ash in a corner, and he knew somehow that this was one of those topics that would do it. So Eiji didn’t push. Ash pulled away after a moment.

“Yeah. I will,” he said, voice tight.

Eiji stepped away and began walking. He was now at the bend that would hide the little bench from view once he turned. So he stopped and looked back once. Ash was still sitting there, watching him go. He smiled now, a faint one, but Eiji saw it. Somehow, Eiji didn’t want to raise his hands in a goodbye. Neither did Ash. So, Eiji smiled in return, he hoped Ash saw it, nodded once, and rounded the bend.

 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

 

Christopher Winston  was an investigative reporter for _The Obsidian,_ the top selling, most coveted and widely published crime weekly in NYC. it was growing fast and strong. The Editor Max Lobo had hopes to spread _The Obsidian_ overseas. Talks in the UK, Japan and South Korea had been progressing smoothly. Max dreamed of rolling out new offices in these countries by the end of next year.

His wife Jessica had smacked him over the head with a celery stick last Sunday dinner and asked him to stop dreaming too much. Chris had laughed at Max’s woebegone expression.

Chris Winston  would one day take over the editor’s post, everyone knew that. He was already the top investigative reporter at _The Obsidian_ and had a team working under him. He was a ruthless supervisor. He had sharp eyes, an even sharper mind and an ability to put facts together and hunt down crime webs spread over counties and over decades and gather them all slowly and efficiently into a neat little manila folder that he casually dropped on Max’s table well before the deadlines and looked at Max with a smug expression. “You’re scary sometimes, you know that?” Max would joke. The contents of the folder would be published in the next issue of _The Obsidian_ and another crime lord or corrupt govt employees’ seat would topple over.

Chris Winston  lived with his roommate, Sergei Andreyev, in a modest house in a respectable locality somewhere in Downtown Manhattan. Sergei worked a mysterious job that no one knew much about, except for Chris. They had a long and complicated past and most days Chris wanted nothing more to kick the lunatic’s ass for getting under his skin. But at other days, when Sergei was absent in long stretches in overseas jobs or other missions-no-one-spoke about, Chris would lose his mind with worry for the old fart and reunite with Sergei after fifteen days by having a quiet dinner during which neither spoke and afterwards, reading Hemingway together in the back porch. Chris would sip a beer, Sergei would light a cigar, _because the bastard was that extra,_ and he would read out the pages from _Islands in the Stream_ or other such shitty books ( that Chris absolutely _did not_ care so much about that he kept all of Sergei ’s books carefully dusted and clean during his absence ) and Chris would listen. The stars turned overhead and the book would still be unfinished. They’d pick up from where they left off the next time Sergei came back home.

Chris Winston  was the son of an army veteran who had lost his life in Iraq. he never knew his father, because he had joined service when Chris was just a few months old. Max Lobo used to be his father’s buddy when they were in the army together and he took in Chris when he was found by the police at the age of fourteen, passed out in an old garage in Max’s neighbourhood. Later, over years, Sergei and Max and Jessica had taken care of Chris and found him a new life.

Chris Winston  had a past he did not want to talk about. And no one except for Sergei , Max and Jess, and a couple of officers, Max’s friends in the police force, knew the whole truth.

Chris carried a Smith and Wesson .365 Magnum on him wherever he went. He wasn't paranoid, but he told Sergei that the cool metal helped him breathe easy everyday. It was his protection and an extension of him. Sergei understood, because he was the one who had taught Chris everything there was to know about guns. And stuff. Stuff he didn’t want to elaborate to anyone.

Chris Winston liked black coffee and sleeping in late in the mornings and did not like his picture being taken. Because Chris Winston was a fake. He existed only on paper. He used to have another name once, another life, another identity. But he was Chris now, and he had accepted that. He was doing what he loved best : uncovering the bad guys for the world to see, because he knew first hand, from experience, exactly _how deep_ the rot had taken root in the whole fucking system, and it was his life’s mission to uproot and unearth the black plight one by one.

One person at a time.

Chris Winston had not expected to meet a strange Japanese man at 5:30 on a foggy morning at Central Park. he also hadn’t expected to be offered a breakfast and shitty store-bought coffee because the curious Japanese man thought he needed it. The coffee had been surprisingly good.

He hadn’t expected himself to have willingly handed over his Smith and Wesson .367 Magnum to another person to look over and for the said person to tell him, _Wow, I see_ after he got to know that Chris had in fact killed a man. The most surprising part was that, on being prompted with a mere glance, to provide his name, Chris hadn’t expected himself to fight against his brain to give out the automatic, practiced response that he had conditioned himself to say for the past decade. Instead, his heart had taken over, because _what else would be that irresponsible,_ and he had blurted out the name Chris had tried to bury deep within. The _real name of the real person_ that existed before Chris Winston had appeared.

Chris stood at the bathroom mirror and inspected his hands. _Remember to clean them up when you get home, yes?_ So Chris scrubbed off the blood of the man he had seen dying in an alleyway close to Chinatown’s outskirts last night at about 4 am. His name was Steven Thompson, Chris had run the identity by the Techs at Max’s office. He had handed Chris a silver chain, given an address and a cryptic message, and promptly died, bleeding all over the alley. Chris had taken the bloodied necklace from the man and by the looks of it, he hadn’t been able to clean off the blood completely in the dark. Splotches were left on his fingertips.

The Japanese man, Eiji, had noticed. He had known it for what it was and had asked Chris to wash it off once he got home. He didn’t ask any questions about it. That simultaneously relieved and infuriated Chris.

And Eiji had told him, _It was really nice meeting you, Ash._ and at that moment, Chris was happy that he had allowed Ash to live for that one hour. Because Ash had got to meet this wonderful and kind and strange man. Ash needed to know someone like that. God knows he had been through enough horrible stuff. Enough for a lifetime.

The only problem was, Chris couldn’t seem to get the man out of his head. That one hour he had lived as Ash Callenreese played over and over in his head, and it shone brighter than anything in Chris’ recent memories. He didn’t know if that was a good thing.

He finished washing his hands clean and took a much needed shower. He had bought groceries on his way back home and set out to make lunch. Today, he was supposed to meet the photographer he had requested with Max for his new mission. The biggest, and quite possibly what might turn out to be the messiest investigation he had taken up in his whole career. He had told Max and Jess the details after dinner a couple of months ago, and Max had freaked out. Chris had barely restrained him from calling Sergei to talk him out of it, since he was the one man who could make Chris change his mind. But Chris had been persistent. He had presented his case and laid out the facts as to why this was precisely the right time to catch Dino Golzine, the Corsican Mafia lord on the East Coast. Who was slowly onto his way to buying the whole US govt into his neat little pocket if someone didn’t stop him.

Besides, Ash Callenreese had old scores to settle with Dino. Since Ash was out of the picture now, Chris had to do the job on behalf of him.

Max had been roped in eventually. He had taken Charlie and Jenkins, his friends on the NYPD, on board. Jess and Max had jointly taken George Scott, the lawyer and Shunichi Ibe, the family friend, into the folds. Ash Callenreese had dropped in to Chang Dai, and met up with Shorter and Nadia Wong, and taken them in too. They were Ash’s oldest friends and he would trust them with his life.

Ash Lynx, the urban legend, who mysteriously commanded the gangs of Uptown Manhattan despite never being seen in close to a decade, had met up with his gang, and Alex, his second in command, and instructed them to spread the web, slowly, invisibly.

Only Sergei was left out of the loop. Because he sure as hell would’ve thrown a fit, packed Chris up into an iron chest, gagged and bound, and dropped him into the Hudson until Chris decided to change his mind. He was an asshole like that.

Blanca and Ash had deceived Dino once, years ago, and had risked a lot. Had retained their lives, but lost their original identities. They had to rebuild their lives anew.

So of course, Sergei wouldn't allow Chris to make the same mistake again. Wouldn’t allow him to ever go back there.

But Chris couldn’t rest until Dino was dead. He was the ugliest, most _rotten_ monster of them all. He had the lives of countless children on his hands. Ash had escaped, but the hundreds of other boys hadn’t been so lucky. Over the years, they had lost their lives in the flesh trade Dino specialised in, where other monsters like him came and devoured innocent lives like beasts.

It was a hellhole. Chris still had nightmares and he wasn’t even Ash.

Besides, if Dino got his way, then the whole of the Govt and its kiss-ass, good for nothing, greedy politicians would be puppets in Dino’s hands. Chris would die before he let Dino win.

 

He stirred the bubbling pot, with meat and vegetables thrown in. he was pretty hungry, having gone without food since last evening’s late night sandwich at his office at _The Obsidian._ And then the single croissant this morning. The staff was working overtime, the next issue was due in two days and everyone was running on sheer adrenaline and coffee. He had left his office at 3:30 am, after submitting his drafts, had threatened his sub-editors with their lives if they didn’t turn in their pieces, neat and trimmed, on Max’s desk by five and then went the fuck back to home and got some sleep because _god knows you shitty losers need some,_ and he thought he’d drop by the Wongs’ place to grab a beer and some actual food. He hadn’t seen his friends for a long time because of work, and besides, Nadia’s bowl of mapo doufu was legendary. Chris had always liked it.

He was about six blocks away from Chinatown when he heard the gunshots and the sound of running feet in an alley off to his left. Within the next ten seconds, Chris was holding up a dying Steven Thomson as blood gurgled out of his mouth, the gunshot on his side bleeding heavily. He didn’t have more than a few minutes left. He spoke, his voice raspy and breaths painfully wheezing, “I found Banana Fish,” and looked up at Chris through glassy eyes as his life slipped away. “Take this,” and he handed Chris a silver necklace with a cylindrical pendant. Chris took it from his bloody hands. The man was struggling to breathe now, and he said, “Forty-two, Westwood, Los Angeles.” And then drew in the last two rattling breaths and collapsed face first onto the dirt.

Chris dropped away the limp body. The perpetrators had run south, but Chris thought he had caught a glimpse of two familiar figures. He didn’t want to believe it, but they looked like boys of Ash Lynx’s gang. He’d have to have a word with Alex later. But now, there were sirens in the distance, someone had heard the shots and called the cops. Chris needed to get the fuck out of there.

The cryptic message had sparked something in Chris’s mind, something he had heard long ago. It was important somehow, but he couldn’t remember the memory now. Dinner was out of the question. His hands and trousers had bloody splotches now and he didn’t want to parade into Chinatown looking like that. Shorter would have to face questions. It was almost 4:30 am by the time his distracted mind fueled him towards the Park. Chris wasn’t worried about roaming at night. This city was like his backyard, and he knew it better than the back of his hand, he’d never get lost here.

He found a shaded bench off to the sides. It was cold for a May night, but Chris didn’t mind. He sat down and scrolled through the replies he had got from the ‘tech guys’ from _The Obsidian_ on the dead person’s identities. Tech guys weren’t so much _tech guys_ as they were hackers and they were pretty decent at their jobs, Chris would admit that. Given the type of content _The Obsidian_ published, they needed these _techies_ on their team. Scams didn’t unearth themselves.

So Chris found out the identity of the man. He was a little known freelance reporter, tied to a major daily on the East Coast, and he had been off the grid recently, working on a case. He had clearly stumbled upon something big, and that had cost him his life.

Another text from Alex had confirmed Chris’ suspicions : the guys who shot Steven Thompson were indeed Ash Lynx’s boys. Alex had cornered them and gotten a confession. Apparently, Ash’s _old enemy_ had threatened them to get Thompson. This last piece of information rattled Chris the most.

Alex asked him what to do, and Chris told him to give the boys a good shake-up, hammer it into them and the gang that they weren’t Dino’s henchmen, they traded fare and square. If anyone repeated the same mistake again, they’d have to take it up with Ash Lynx.

Alex had asked him the real question : Boss, why is Dino getting into this shit? Steven Thompson was a nobody, a sniffer for a paper. Why would Dino bother?

And this is why Chris liked Alex and Ash Lynx had him as his second. he had good instincts and asked the right questions.

Chris told him to keep his eyes and ears open. Alex knew what for. He knew about Chris’ new mission, and this incident was probably the first in a long line, yet to come.

Now all Chris had to do was to figure out what the heck was Banana Fish, and what was at 42, Westwood, Los Angeles. For some reason, he thought he should’ve known what it was, there was something he was forgetting, the name had triggered a memory from long ago, and Chris’ mind wandered. The sky was getting lighter, and people were starting to trickle in. Chris was immersed in his mind, trying to chase after streams of words and facts and faces from the past, and he lost track of time. There was a sudden sound of twigs crunching to his right that made him whip around to scope out a potential threat and-

His eyes landed on the strange man standing awkwardly before him, holding a styrofoam cup.

The man was clearly nervous at being caught, and staring at Chris with slightly wide eyes. He said, “Um….I’m sorry if I startled you. I just….uh….Coffee?”

And Chris lived the next hour as Ash Callenreese, having coffee and croissants. And showed Eiji Okumura his gun.

 

Chris finished his lunch absently. Sergei, the old bastard, was away on a three month long overseas job. Chris had a niggling thread of worry at the back of his mind about Sergei and whether he was okay right now. It happened all the time when Sergei was away, and Chris got irritated at himself for worrying like a grandma, because of course Sergei was okay. He was the man who had taught him. He would be okay. And Chris would definitely kick his ass once he came back, because _which_ old fart still takes jobs that makes him stay out of country for most of the year? His eyes caught on the copy of _To Have and Have Not_ lying on the bureau by the window. They’d pick it up from page 134 when Sergei came back a month later, like he had said in his text this morning.

It was nearly 1:30 pm when Chris put his keys in the ignition and pulled away from the drive. He was supposed to meet this new photographer that Max promised him was good. Or so he had heard from Shunichi Ibe, his friend. Chris assumed that Ibe had recommended someone he knew from his business, since a lot of up-and-coming photographers frequented his agency. Chris didn’t care either way. He needed a scout, someone who could be good with faces, and catching them on camera discreetly. He wanted someone as far removed from the whole news-industry as possible, someone who would look least susceptible hanging around posh business centers and certain high end establishments. Someone who would be a ghost figure, who’d blend in with the mixed crowd of New Yorkers, and not attract attention. Someone temporary, who would listen to Chris and follow his orders to a T and not ask stupid questions. Aside from that, Chris didn’t have much specifications and he had told Max the same.

 

It was 2:30pm by the time Chris stepped into the elevator to the 23rd floor of the building where _The Obsidian_ had its offices. He hadn’t anticipated the afternoon traffic to drag him down so late. And he himself had been delayed by ten minutes, gathering the files he needed to distribute to his subs. They’d have to sit down together with the rest of the team to decide on the final draft of this week’s story, it was a heavyweight one, and Chris was looking at another possible late night. _Hopefully, without homicide thrown in afterwards,_ his brain supplied humorlessly.

He got a text from Max on the way up, saying that he had been held back in a sudden, emergency meeting with the Press until four, and that he had re-scheduled Ibe-san’s visit after that, so Chris can drop in to his office then.

 _Well, it was better this way,_ thought Chris, he needed to update his team about certain changes in the drafts anyway. Guess the two extra hours were a bonus.

He headed to his office, and was greeted by a haggard looking Sarah, his Sub-Ed, and she informed him that an error was showing up somewhere in one of the databases and they simply _had to_ fix that before they could continue. He nodded tersely and the next two hours went by in a flurry of transcripts, cross referencing from case files and final edits to the draft his team was working on.

By the time he was done, it was well past four and he was sure Max was gonna chew him out in private for the lateness. He cursed in silence as he packed up the files hastily and headed for Max’s office which was on the other side of the floor. Chris simply hadn’t noticed the time pass by once he was absorbed in his work.

He asked Tony from the Adverts, if Max’s visitors had arrived yet, because Tony’s office was just opposite to Max’s and the fucker noticed _everything_. He said, yes, they had. So Chris quickened his steps, it was rude of him to be so late, really.

He pushed open the large, black double-doors of Max’s office and said, “Sorry I’m late, everyone. The meeting went longer than exp-”

And he stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes landed for the second time that day on Eiji Okumura’s face.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

 

 **A/N :** This chapter has been betaed by me, and all errors are mine, sorry for any unintentional typos!

As always, comments and feedbacks are greatly appreciated, and are the best inspiration to write! Feel free to drop a word if you'd like! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got really inspired to continue writing! Thank you for the lovely feedback!  
> This story is gonna get a long one folks, so buckle up. I'll keep oscillating between the past events and the present day, so kindly pay close attention to the dates and months at the beginning of each section, skdjsjsjs 
> 
> I really loved exploring Ash and Griff's lives back in the past, and this has been one of my fondest parts to write so far. I have the third chapter written out, but I'm apprehensive about posting, since it's...like...close to 9k. And I don't want to fatigue people out *nervous laughter*
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! And as always, any and all comments are greatly appreciated! :)

 

                                                                 

 

Ash and Griff had a beach picnic planned for today. Griff had promised to take him fishing in the tidal pools beyond Cape Cod’s town boundaries and Ash was bursting with excitement. He had never gone so far from the little town square near which he lived, or the docks at the beach where the ferry came four times a day to take people to the City. Ash’s world was within these familiar roads, the little wooden houses that clustered around the docks, the cliffs on which the lighthouse stood, and the constant cry of seagulls that floated in from the ocean.

Ash loved it here.

And also, there was Griff, who was the only person who really mattered in his opinion. Griff was the best. He listened to whatever Ash had to say very carefully, and explained things to him that Ash didn’t understand. He taught Ash to read and write and draw pictures with crayons, and take care of plants in their backyard. Sometimes, Griff would sing him songs at night when Ash couldn’t fall asleep, and buy him ice cream from Mr Wilson’s stall at the park. In Ash’s world, Griff was the best brother, no, the _best person_ who could ever exist. And Griff had promised him that he’d stay and take care of Ash forever. How long was forever? Ash didn’t know. But he supposed it was a long time. Griff had laughed that mellow, tinkling laugh of his when Ash had clarified. “Don’t you worry, bud. I’ll be here.” he said. So Ash didn’t worry after that.

His dad was not a nice man, Ash was afraid of him. He didn’t have many good memories with him either. He was always at the bar, working. Sometimes, at night, when they thought he was asleep, Ash could here Griff and their dad argue loudly downstairs about stuff, important ones, Ash was sure, because Griff never quarreled with anyone unless it was needed. His dad didn’t bother about him, and only ever frowned sullenly at Ash when he was around, so Ash didn’t feel the need to care about him either. Griff was there. Griff was always there when he needed him.

Jen was really nice though. She came over to their house sometimes, and played with Ash, and gave him muffins that she had baked. Ash hadn’t seen her for very long, maybe a few months. And during those months, Griff and dad had started arguing more and more. When Ash asked Griff who Jen was, he had seemed pained, and just said, “She’s dad’s friend.”

“Not ours?” he had asked back. Griff looked at him sadly, and said, “Yeah, buddy. Ours too.”

The kids at his montessori school were mean. They didn’t understand him like Griff did. The teachers were all awful too, they always told Ash to shut up because _“You talk too much, brat”._ But Ash couldn’t help it, he always had so many questions about everything! But eventually, he had learnt to stop asking them at school, and asked Griff instead. Griff was much better at explaining stuff to him anyway.

Today’s picnic was long awaited. Last year, Griff had joined a school for other big boys like him, where they taught you how to work with planes and other heavy, big cars, the kind you used in wars. Griff says he’ll get a “license” to join companies that hired people who built or repaired machinery like that. Ash thought it was such a cool job. Griff was the coolest person ever. Although, he hadn’t really understood what going on a “war” meant. Griff said he’d explain it better once Ash was a bit older.

Griff hadn’t been able to get too many holidays, spending all the weekdays at his school and coming back home only at night. Ash wasn’t worried, he was _three_ , and definitely a big kid now and he could take care of himself just fine! He had told Griff not to worry when he had first told him about his school plans. Griff had laughed and hugged him tight and kissed his forehead. Ash had giggled when Griff tickled him under the ribs very sneakily and told him “I’m so proud of my little man!”

Today, Griff was on a blessed three days of holiday from his school very suddenly, and he and Ash had made plans for all three of them, sitting on the porch last night, sipping on the chilled cola Griff had got for them. The first day was picnic and tidal pools, the day after was a hike to the cliffs north of their home, and the third day was a visit to Griff’s friends’, who had a birthday party coming up.

Ash had wanted to wear Griff’s big straw hat, even though it was too big on him, because he had seen the “tourist people” wearing them when they came to visit Cape Cod’s beaches. The locals didn’t really bother with them, used to the sun and the salty wind from birth. But Ash though it looked so cool! So, Griff had tied it up securely with a string beneath Ash’s chin so it wouldn’t fall off, but it still came over his eyes and Ash had to keep tugging it up constantly.

Griff had laughed at that, and and told him now he looked like his _Little Hat Man._

The whole day they spent fishing, and Griff had to help him with the rod and wheel, since they were too big and heavy, but Ash _did_ catch three silver fishes from one of the larger pools and kept staring at them in wonder as they swam lazily in the red bucket they were carrying them in. 

Afterwards, he and Griff had played in the waves, and Griff taught him how to paddle in the water, holding him afloat. Ash was always scared a little at the start, but he got used to it soon. He hoped he’d learn to swim real soon, and go out to the sea like Griff did sometimes with his friends.

As the sun came down, Griff settled Ash snugly in his lap and they watched the sunset together. Griff had brought one of his poetry books and was reading aloud to Ash. Even though he didn’t understand the words, Ash loved hearing the gentle ups and downs of Griff’s voice and even if he wouldn’t admit it ever, he would play these memories over and over in his head when Griff was gone away for work and Ash was missing him. Ash was feeling cozy and sleepy and _so warm._ He must’ve fallen a little asleep, because Griff’s voice woke him up.

“Aslan, what do you think of me going away to war?”

Griff only called him _Aslan_ when he was talking about something very important and wanted Ash to listen.

“To war?”

“Yes.”

Ash thought hard. War sounded strange, it was just _“people fighting for something they believed was right”_ as Griff had explained. But wasn’t there only one right thing? Like, telling the truth, not hurting animals, being kind to others, wasn’t there only one right thing to do and the doing otherwise was wrong? Then why did grown ups think they had to _“fight”_ over what was right? Didn’t they know better? Ash was confused. Maybe he’ll understand when he was even “older” however long that meant. He couldn’t wait for that to happen.  

“How long will you be gone?” because that’s the only thing that mattered. Ash was sure Griff would be fighting for the right side, and that he’d be able to make the other team understand that they were wrong. The only thing that mattered was how long it would take.

Griff was silent for a long time.

“I don’t know, buddy. Maybe a year or two?”

 _A year or two?_ But that was _such_ a long time! Ash knew that, because apparently, birthdays happened every year, and he could hardly remember his earlier ones.

“Why will it take so long to tell the other people that they were wrong? Isn’t that what you do at wars?” Ash turned around in Griff’s lap to face him. He was genuinely curious.

Griff smiled sadly at him. He carded through his little brother’s soft, golden strands of hair slowly. Suddenly, he couldn’t face the innocent, wide-eyed curiosity shining through in the jade green irises of Ash. He wished he could explain to Ash what was eating him inside out, slowly. That drive, that itch, that feeling that _it wasn’t working anymore._ The mother who had left her child, the absentee father, his umpteenth new affair, the blatant neglect by him of either of his children, the constant shortage of money, the hopeless feeling that if he didn’t do something to get out of this place, he and Ash would forever be stuck in here, this nameless, little seaside town, miles away from the bustling life he read about in the papers….it was everything culminating in a long, drawn out cycle of never _enough_ , never _quite right_ ….

Here he was, an eighteen year old boy, stepping in to fill the shoes of everyone : a parent, a brother, a friend and a guardian to this little kid sitting in front of him, the only family he truly cared about. He was growing afraid day by day, of the immense trust and complete reliance Ash had on him. What if he would one day not be enough? What if he let down Ash one day, and Ash grew up to realise that staying here with “ _his Griff”_ was pointless anymore? What if Ash hated him for not giving him better opportunities in life by being too afraid to let Ash get out of his sight? At least this way, Griff could aid Ash financially and then let Ash decide whatever he wanted to do with his life?

He was making the right choice, he tried to convince himself.

He tapped Ash’s button nose softly and said, “Sometimes, convincing a person takes a long time, bud. You gotta be patient.”

Ash hummed thoughtfully, as if he understood. _Maybe he did._ Then he yawned and buried himself comfortably into Griff’s chest. He was getting sleepy. They should get back soon.

Griff looked out into the dark oranges and brilliant reds painted over the horizon. The sea was the color of molten gold. The waves crashed over the rocks in the distance and the wet, salty air ruffled his hair like a caress. He’d miss Cape Cod.

He tried to imagine himself, two years from now, stuck in a sandy, arid desert thousands of miles away from home, gunshots and air raids and clipped orders the background noise all around him, day in and day out. faceless, burly army men toiling in the scorching afternoon sun. it seemed like a far fetched dream, spun out of desperation. He still had doubts as to whether he’d be able to get used to the army life, even if he joined as an engineer.

Will he remember this evening during those times? This feeling of _contentment_ , the warmth of a sleeping child in his arms, the comfortable and familiar baby smell of his little brother, which felt like home; the memories of familiar places he had known all his life?

Griff was sure he would. Remember and miss this, every moment of every day.

Suddenly, Ash squirmed against him, and mumbled out, “Griff, you’ll come back soon, yes? Once the war is over?”

And at that moment, there was a knife in Griff’s chest he couldn’t take out. It twisted and buried deep. Such simple words, and yet, Griff felt that whatever he said in response, would never be enough. He detected the uncertainty and the tinge of fear in Ash’s voice. Ash was still too young to understand what all of it really meant, only, he was beginning to be suspicious of something big, bad, and unknown.  He hated himself for making Ash ask things like this. These were questions to which lost, desperate, eighteen year olds like him didn’t yet have answers to.

“Of course, buddy,” he said, swallowing around the lump in his throat and ignoring the sting in his eyes. “I promise.” He kissed the top of Ash’s little head, who sighed contentedly and settled in once more. Griff buried his face in Ash’s hair, and memorised all these little details that he’d need to hold onto, these memories which would call him back home, once again.

When the war was over.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                                                                              

 

Eiji woke up very early today. Today was the very special day that he had been waiting for weeks, ever since he heard the news from his parents.

Today, they were going to bring his baby sister home from the hospital and Eiji couldn’t _wait_ to see her for the first time.

He name was Umi, his grandma had decided on the girl’s name months ago. Had Eiji had a brother, they’d have called him Shou.

It didn’t matter. Eiji was happy he had become an onii-san now. He couldn’t wait for the day when Umi would be older, they’d go to the same school, and Eiji would proudly show his little sister around, and when they’d be even older they’d travel to places together, and Eiji would play with her, and they can also have pets if they wanted? Or maybe dolls, since Umi was a girl, and girls liked dolls? The ones at Eiji’s school did, anyway. Eiji would play with Umi and her dolls regardless. He’d become a great older brother, he had decided.

This was by far, the best feeling in his recent memory. Or even, in the whole five years of his life.

He went to the hospital with his dad and grandma, and Eiji saw his mom smiling tenderly at a bundle of blankets she held held in her arms. She saw Eiji at the door and called out to him softly.

“She’s sleeping,” whispered his mom, and lowered the bundle for Eiji to have a look.

His sister….looked weird. Very weird. She was pink, and splotchy, with a tuft of black hair and bubbles at her mouth. She moved around her little fists in sleep, and when Eiji touched one of them, she, _very surprisingly,_ tried to grab Eiji’s hands. Her fist was so _tiny_ , that only one of Eiji’s fingers could reasonably fit in her grip, and Eiji thought it was a miraculous feat to be achieved by a person who was only a day old.

Eiji had the most amazing sister in the world.

Later, when they came back home, Eiji sat outside in the garden and confided his fears in the family dog Kuma : his worries regarding the fate of such a small person. Will she be okay? He was sure people would like her, and Eiji would scold anyone who was mean to her. He’d share all his collection of action figures and special anime cards he had collected, with her, and they could collect even _more_ now, since there would be two of them from now on. Do babies feel colder than people? Is that why they kept her wrapped up in blankets? Maybe he’d dress her up in his favourite red T shirt when she grew older and fit the size, it would look awesome on her, Eiji was sure.

They’d go attend the festivals at the Shrine together, and Eiji would lead her by the hand so she didn’t get lost. They could have candies and try the games there, and Eiji’s other friends would be there too!

Eiji rambled on and on in his childish voice, his brain leaping a mile a minute with wild possibilities. The brand new experience of having his very own sister, hadn’t worn off yet. Eiji was glad his sister was born in the summer months. All her birthdays would be amazing, maybe they could invite their friends and have parties outside in the gardens, and Eiji could decorate the trees with paper lanterns, and fairy lights, and otou-san would help him too.

The late July sunset touched his happy face, his big eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, and the warm summer breeze gently carried his excited words away as the evening drew near.

 

 

 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

 

A/N : Thank you to everyone who has read and commented, I go through each of them, and they always bring a huge smile to my face! I promise to reply to everybody once I get some time at hand. Today happens to be Christmas Day in my timezone, and wish you all a very happy, healthy and joyous holiday season! ^_^ 

PS - Eiji being excited all over on having a sister is me, lol. I remember the day my baby brother was brought home, and I kid you not, I was jumping on the bed with excitement XD Altho, we have grown past the childish fondness and the snarky, at-each-other's-throats teenage years, he's still one of my biggest supports and also, has better fashion sense than me, so as an elder sister, I exploit the full potential of that *mwahahaha*

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of...uh...behind the schedule with this one, uni was a life-force drainer for the last one and a half months.  
>   
> My sincere apologies for the long, winded sentences, because apparently, my brain still hasn't been able to grasp the meaning of _short and concise prose_ :D  
>   
> Loads of thanks to [Sarah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarartist/pseuds/honeyed_dagger), who saw my very first draft and kicked my ass to rewrite the whole thing, as she truthfully pointed out for the mess it was *u*  
> To [Angela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angela/pseuds/Angela), for helping out with the phrasing errors.  
> And finally, to [Gonenc](http://vashak.tumblr.com), my lovely beta, for going through three rough drafts, cheering me on, and explaining patiently why a 10.3K word-count was not the healthy length for one chapter, hence the two part split. Dear readers, please deposit your thanks to her for not being bored to death ploughing through the original gunk, as I'd have no doubt stuffed this with, had she not stopped me.  
>   
> Any and all errors henceforth, are mine.  
>   
> Thank you so much to all those who left kudos and comments, and even if I couldn't reply to all of you (real life was sucky) I read each of them and they warmed my heart <3

 

                                                        

 

 

Eiji woke up to a call from Ibe-san, who informed him that Max had apparently been delayed in an emergency meeting, and Eiji's appointment had been pushed back to four in the afternoon as a result. Ibe-san would come pick him up from the hotel half an hour in advance, so _Ei-chan should get ready_ in the meantime.

 

He blearily took note of the time on his phone screen : 2:15 p.m. _Shit._

He had clearly missed the alarms while asleep; would’ve been embarrassingly late to the meeting, had it not been rescheduled and had Ibe-san not called. This morning, he had come back from the Park, all but collapsed on the bed and slept like the dead for the next seven hours; the jet-lag dragging him down worse than he had anticipated.

 

He sat up groggily and tried blinking the drowsiness away; the clock was ticking. He might as well get ready.

 

He brushed, shaved, took a quick shower and decided to skim through his emails while waiting for his lunch. He scrolled through a couple of goofy photos his sister had sent from her ongoing college trip in Kyushu, snorting at the all-caps follow up messages, urging Eiji to send her live updates of his time in America.

After lunch, there was still about half an hour to kill before Ibe-san showed up.

Absentmindedly, Eiji went over to the large windows and looked at the bright, sunlit cityscape spread out below him. His insides itched for a cigarette, having gone without his nicotine high during transit, for almost over a day now. He felt queasy about smoking indoors, but the craving won out at the end, like always. He opened the glass sliders, lit one and took a long drag. He'd have to restock soon.

There was a gentle summer breeze floating in. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the warm, familiar smell of sun baked city concrete, as the afternoon light reflected onto him from the panes. New York was somewhat like Tokyo, Eiji mused, as he took in the busy cars, the crowd at the far crossing to the right, the occasional shouts and honks in the distance; it all soothed him in a strange way. 

Somewhere in this cesspool of busy life was Ash Callenreese.

His aimless thoughts drifted back to this morning, and latched onto the wispy, sun-bright fragments of memories it found there. He wondered why every second of that hour he had spent with Ash seemed to be etched in his mind as clearly as it was.

_Ash Callenreese_ ….the name whispered over his mind, spoken in a halting, uncertain voice. Eiji wondered why Ash had done that.

He remembered the sleek, heavy gun and tried to imagine what sort of life Ash lead— that required him to carry a gun around.

_That required him to kill._

Eiji suppressed a flare of unease at the thought. Ash didn’t seem like a bad guy, nor did he give off vibes of immediate danger. Which was strange, because Eiji had assumed, that his first reaction upon seeing a gun with somebody outside of authorities, would be his brain equating it to violence, or cruelty. But curiously enough, Ash hadn’t personified any of those traits.

 

There were quite a few people in his life he had found unforgettable : his mentors, teachers, seniors in his profession— they all had some traits Eiji found admirable. He looked up to them and remembered the time spent with them.

But yet, no one stood out as vividly as this young man had managed to do within a single hour. Ash was a glowing thing, every line of him in sharp focus. The crinkle of his eyes and his bubbling laughter danced around Eiji’s heart, and his face grew warm. _It was foolish,_ he scolded himself. Ash Callenreese belonged to that misty, foggy morning on a sunlit wooden park bench, the heavy scent of coffee and the warmth of silly jokes enveloping them. Where they had known each other's names and shared stories, and Ash had had trusted him with his gun. Ash Callenreese seemed like a dream now.

Eiji was here on a job.

 

He stubbed out the cigarette, pushed away from the window and started packing his trusty messenger bag with his portfolio and a spare Canon camera, in case he was asked to shoot something as a demonstration.

Although Ibe-san had assured him that he wouldn’t need to show any samples of his work, that Max would hire Eiji on his word alone and it was almost a done deal, Eiji didn’t feel comfortable with that. As much as this Max Lobo was a friend of Ibe-san’s, he was a potential employer at the moment, and not showing his portfolio would feel like he was compromising his professionalism. He didn’t want that.

 

 

*** * * * * ***

 

 

It was four when Ibe-san pulled into the drive of the tall, sleek building where _The Obsidian_ , Max’s newspaper, had its office. He parked it in the Staff-section of the ground floor, showed his card to the security and they headed up to the 23rd floor in the elevator.

 

Max Lobo was sitting in his spacious office behind a huge glass topped table, set with a desktop and a couple of phones, littered with papers, and stacks of files and binders balanced precariously on top of each other. He appeared to be a couple of years older than Ibe-san, with light reddish-brown hair, a stocky build, and a deep, friendly voice.

“Shunichi!” He boomed and tackled Ibe-san in a crushing hug. They greeted each other as old friends and Eiji had to suppress a laugh at their boyish enthusiasm.

“So, Max, as I promised, this is Ei-chan, your photographer.”

Eiji bowed formally and introduced himself. Max clapped a large hand onto his shoulder and smiled widely, “Whoa! I didn’t expect you to be so _young_ ! How old are you? Wait, lemme guess, _nineteen_ ? Or is it _twenty_?”

Eiji laughed at his expectant face; he couldn’t get mad at Max, the man had the friendliest of smiles plastered on his face, that lit up his eyes. Eiji found he liked Max instantly.

“I’m going to be twenty-six this November.”

Max was dumbfounded, jaw hanging open in surprise. It was the standard reaction when people found out his age. Eiji had let himself get used to it over the years. Now he found it _almost_ funny.

“ _No way!_ You’re even older than Chris! You don’t look your age at all, kiddo!” Max laughed.

“Oh, by the way, did Shunichi tell you? You’ll be working with Chris,” he said, as they settled down. “Christopher Winston, our top correspondent here.”

A genuine fondness and pride colored his voice. Whoever this Chris was, it seemed that he certainly lived up to his repute.

“Yes, he told me. But, uh….what exactly will my job be?” Eiji glanced at Ibe-san, then back to Max. “He didn’t elaborate a whole lot.”

Max was quiet for a moment as his face grew serious and his dark blue eyes turned flinty. Eiji held his gaze steadily and got the feeling that Max had a number of sides to him. His easygoing, friendly personality housed a tougher, steely man inside— someone who had seen a lot in life. He assumed it was a necessity, if you had to run the best-selling crime weekly in the East Coast.

 

For the next half an hour, Max briefed him on the details of the case. And what he heard, left Eiji speechless.

 

He and Chris Winston would be partners on an undercover mission, hunting down Dino Golzine, the head-honcho of the Corsican Foundation, the biggest mafia syndicate on the East Coast, active since way back in the 1960s.

Golzine was a dangerous man, had ruined countless lives, and was on his way to buying the whole US Government into his pocket very soon. He also happened to be an influential public figure. On paper, he was a businessman with dealings in South America, the Middle East, and parts of Europe. He also funded some well publicised partnership projects of the Government. Hence, the media had been repeatedly thrown off the _real_ criminal deals he had been engaging in for years. Max had kept tabs on him for a long time, but there hasn’t been anything concrete to hold up against him, _yet_.

Recently, however, Obsidian’s sources have confirmed that Golzine has been in talks with the hot-shots of the US military, members of the President’s office and his buddies in syndicates elsewhere. Max thought that this time, Golzine was planning something big, involving multiple parties— meaning more people, more loose threads everywhere; therefore, the best time to topple his empire for good.

It was a risky mission, and Max had informed very few people with the full details of the investigation– even the main staff of _Obsidian_ had been kept in the dark.

If Eiji accepted, he and Chris would report directly to him, and all extra support, be it technical or logistical, would be provided by the Staff, whenever needed. Max wasn’t sure how long it would take, could be months, as these sort of cases usually tended to be – long and arduous. They’d also need a team of very efficient, well coordinated people.

As of now, this was all Max could tell him. The rest of the finer details would be planned directly on the field by Chris, the lead investigator in this project.

So was Eiji prepared for it?

 

The case was interesting, definitely, and challenging – vastly different from what he was used to doing. Basically, he’d need to have a good eye for people, and recognise potential suspects involved in the case, people having ties to this Corsican group and Golzine himself. Judging from what Max had said, it could be anyone — from common thugs, to important public figures or even media staff. Eiji would need a very good cover story and construct a believable appearance if he was to pull this off and not get dragged in by the authorities for suspicious behavior.

By the time Max finished, it was almost five. Eiji had showed him his portfolio on hearing what kind of photos he’d be required to take, and Max seemed to be pleased with his work. He let Eiji know that he was more than qualified for the job.

 

Chris Winston hadn’t showed up yet for some reason. Max was grumbling about _“What the hell is that punk upto now?”_ and Eiji internally snorted at the choice of words. Hard to imagine a brilliant journalist, who apparently had a spotless track record, to be called a _‘punk’_ by his Editor.

From the sound of it, Chris Winston would be _interesting,_ if nothing else.

 

He didn’t really mind waiting; his only concern at present was how quickly he could adjust to the work, and whether he’d be any good at it.  

Eventually, Max and Ibe-san struck up a personal conversation and Eiji tuned out their words. He lapsed deep into thought, running the recently acquired facts over in his head and lost track of time

 

 

There was a muffled noise at the door that snapped Eiji out of his musings and all three of them turned to look at it. Someone was pushing it open. The newcomer’s words floated in as he entered, “Sorry I’m late, everyone. The meeting went longer than expected-”

And Eiji _froze_ . Everything around him seemed to come to an abrupt, jerky halt. He recognised the voice very much. In fact, he had heard it just this morning. _You really are a kid, aren't you?_ It whispered teasingly in Eiji’s ears.

The room and everything else in it blurred away. His vision condensed into a single focus of stunned disbelief as his gaze landed on the man who came in through the door.

Blond hair falling messily around his face, jade eyes that went _impossibly_ wide as they took in Eiji, holding a couple of binders that barely managed to stay in the crook of his elbow, stood Ash Callenreese. The man from the park.

Ash asked, “ _Eiji?!_ ”

At the same time he said, “ _Ash!”_

Max Lobo’s wide eyes flitted between them. “Wait, you two _know_ each other?”

In the silence that followed as he and Ash continued to stare, Ibe-san asked him, very confused, “Who’s _Ash_?”

 

 

*** * * * * * * * ***

 

 

 

 

There were many things that Chris Winston didn’t believe in.

 

He didn’t believe in a God or the _goodness_ of humanity. He didn’t believe that anything in this world came _without_ a price tag. He didn’t believe in stepping outside his house, _unarmed._  He didn’t believe in leaving his enemy _alive_.

Neither in _promises_ , or _family_ or _love_. And sure as fuck not in fate or _destiny_.

Those were for the rest of the lucky masses out there, ones who had had the privilege of living a decent fucking life.

They didn’t apply to him.

So imagine his surprise when he turns up at just another work meeting, just like any other day— and finds _Eiji Okumura_ of all people sitting on the other side of the doors.

 

This sure had to be the shittiest (or best, Chris couldn’t decide yet) joke life had played on him in recent past.

 

His brain connected the dots immediately : Ibe-san promising to bring someone he knew, Max sitting there, clearly cut short from a genial conversation with his visitors, Eiji Okumura having flown in from Japan for a job this morning, _Obsidian’s_ requirement for an unknown face, the sleek brown folder that lay open on Max’s table, with glossy, enlarged photos printed on them, clearly some kind of photographer’s portfolio.

And finally, Eiji, saying, _“Ash!”_ as if he had been waiting for him, all this time.

 

This was never supposed to happen.

 

Ibe-san asked, “Who’s _Ash_ ?” because of course he didn't know; one among hundreds who had _no idea_ about his past, and Eiji continued, still looking at him with wide eyes, “Well, _this_ is A-”

Chris forced himself to take the three steps ahead, and thrust out his hand in Eiji’s face.

“Chris Winston,” he cut in, loud in the silence of the room. “Nice to meet you.”

He could see the confusion swirling in Eiji’s eyes, and he felt like a jerk. _Of course_ Eiji would think he was lying. It wasn’t even a _day_ since he had introduced himself under a completely different name.

He desperately hoped that Eiji would go along with the act for now, at least in while front of Ibe-san. And then he’d have to get Eiji out of here, before this mess got even more tangled, and give him a proper explanation.

“Yeah…. you too,” Eiji said haltingly, gripping Chris’ cold hands in his own.

 

Chris took a chair, feeling uneasy under Max’s openly dumbstruck face, and _felt_ rather than heard, the questions the man was practically screaming through his eyes : _What the hell was that? How does he know you? Or your real name?_

 

“Sorry Max. The meeting dragged on uselessly. I’d have been here by four if my stupid team had finished their drafts on time...but whatever.”

He glanced over to Ibe-san, deliberately sweeping over Eiji, as he still hadn’t figured out what to say to him. “And good afternoon, Ibe-san.”

He didn’t, however, miss the flash of hurt across Eiji’s face at the omission. _Shit._

Max waved away the excuse airily, “Nah, it’s fine. I was catching up with them anyway.

“So...Chris, this is….Eiji,” he gestured towards the man, with a faltering, unsure smile, eyes flitting between them. “I assume you’ve met-”

“Alright,” he interrupted Max forcefully, “Have you told him the details? _The risks?_ Can he do the job?”

Max’s smile dropped and he frowned at the blatant rudeness, and Chris was sure he’d get chewed over this later. In private.

“....Yeah, we discussed it,” Max raised an eyebrow, “While you were busy being _an hour late_ to a scheduled meeting, whatever your reasons were.

“I think he’d be _great_. I saw his portfolio too. Here—” Max slid the open folder over to him. “Have a look.”

_Well_.

He finally glanced over to Eiji, and what he saw made him feel even more of a dick. Eiji’s bright, open face from a few moments ago, was shuttered off, unreadable.

Chris realised, _now_ was high time he got the fuck out of here and pitched his remaining words to Eiji instead.

 

He picked up the folder and stood abruptly, the metal of the chair dragging harshly against the floor. All three pairs of eyes in the room swivelled to him.

“Max, can I talk to him for a second? Outside.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, gave Eiji a single, tense look, silently willing him to follow, and then went out through the doors. He weaved rapidly through the office spaces towards the back of the building, where there were several small balconies off the stairwell landings beyond the break rooms. From the sound of hurried footsteps behind, he knew Eiji was there.

 

 

They reached one of the empty ones on the floor below, and he slid the door closed after stepping through.

Neither of them spoke for awhile.

The balcony was windy today. The distant sounds of traffic faintly carried over in the breeze and seemed to make the awkward silence between them ring even louder. The five feet of empty space separating them, felt like an uncomfortable, solid wall.

Chris stepped over to the railings and tried to gather his words. He didn’t know why, but he was dreading this conversation, just a _little_ bit. It was a pretty novel feeling, as he was used to having all his cards arranged to a T when he went into a deal. He huffed out an annoyed sigh at his flickering resolve, made up his mind, and turned to face his companion properly.

Eiji was holding himself stiff and silent and uncomfortable, standing deliberately away from him. Chris could see the torrent of questions flitting behind his eyes, which had a strange look in them. It was equal parts confused, and equal parts _hurt_. Chris could reason out the confusion, but the _hurt_ was unexpected, and it somehow, successfully made Chris feel even smaller.

 

But Eiji said, “That’s the necklace from the morning, isn't it? The one you’re wearing?” His eyes flitted to his neck, where Chris now noticed the oblong pendant hanging out of his shirt. It must’ve slipped out sometime during the busy afternoon, without his notice.

_Damn Eiji._ And his observations. He’d probably be a _fantastic_ partner in the job they were talking about.

Chris smiled inwardly against his will as he tucked it away, and slanted his eyes at the curious man standing in front of him.

“Out of _all_ the things you could’ve asked about, you go for _this_?”

He indeed hadn’t felt right with the idea of leaving the necklace of Steven Thomson lying around somewhere else and had carried it on his person instead. It seemed to be a fairly important piece of evidence, even if Chris wasn't sure of its relevance yet.

Eiji shrugged. “Well, it was very noticeable, that’s all.”

“Fair enough.”

They lapsed into another spell of awkward silence as neither seemed to know how to continue.

 

Eventually, Eiji stepped forward and braced his hands on the metal railing, mimicking his pose, and looked straight ahead. For some reason, Chris grew strangely apprehensive, even more than when he had shown Eiji his gun this morning. At that time, it hadn’t mattered a whole lot what Eiji thought of him. But now, his whole being seemed to be curiously tilted on Eiji’s verdict, hanging onto his every movement, tuned to his every word. It seemed important somehow, that Eiji…. _didn’t_ turn away from him now.

“So, you’re _Chris_ ,” Eiji stated quitely.

“And _you’re_ our photographer….?” he ventured cautiously. Eiji still hadn’t looked at him. Neither did he reply.

The fact that the photographer in this project would turn out to be _Eiji_ of all people was what threw Chris off the most. He was going to go up against Golzine, the monster who still gave him nightmares even after more than a decade. He knew the immense risk this job posed to everyone involved. The reason he had informed so few and had kept Sergei of all people out of the loop, was because, this might even turn out to be a _suicide mission_ . Max, he could pull in, because he understood Chris’ drive, and because _Obsidian_ was their job, they understood the chances at stake.

 

But once he had stepped in through the doors and seen Eiji, and his brain had made the right connections even before he had finished speaking, he found himself backtracking at the idea of exposing Eiji to this job. _To his world._

 

“Why would you give me a false name?” Eiji asked abruptly, in an even smaller voice. “What did you think I’d do with it, we didn’t even _know_ each other….” his voice caught oddly on the last few words and he turned his head away to the other side.

And _God_ Chris felt like _dirt_.

A choice was to be made right now, right here. Lying outright to Eiji didn’t sit well with him. Confessing everything was also, out of the question. The only option left was…. _a mix of both._ And curiously enough, the prospect of sharing this half truth with Eiji, even this little piece of information about himself……. _didn’t_ make him clamp up, didn’t automatically kickstart the fight and kill response Sergei had drilled into him, especially for situations like these. False identities were all that they had left now. In their world, self preservation came naturally before trust.

 

But yet, something prompted him to let go, to loosen up. _Just this once._ Besides, Eiji was a prospective case-partner…. maybe this much of confidence was warranted automatically? Chris wouldn’t know. All his past partnerships had gone horribly, those idiots were either too scared or too dumb, or both. He hadn’t bothered with them after more than a day.

 

“Eiji, listen, hey, look at me…”

He looked intently at Eiji once he turned back. His heart sped up in tandem with the words he was about to say. It felt momentous somehow, like taking a _stupid_ fucking leap of faith. Excitingly scary, because he didn’t know for sure if it’d land him up at a good place or make all of this go south. He turned the words slowly over in his head, testing them against his tongue, before he voiced out loud : “That.... _wasn’t_ a false name.”

There was an immediate flash of skepticism and hurt in Eiji’s dark eyes, and it hit him harder than it should have. _How_ he wished to be _Ash Callenreese_ at that moment. Then Eiji could have called out his name freely and maybe given him that warm smile that Chris had played over and over in his head since morning.

But yet, he insisted, “That wasn't a _false_ name, Eiji. I wish I could make you believe. But it’s..…”

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. His past was something he never wanted to revisit. The less other people knew, the better. But somehow, he felt that Eiji deserved a better excuse than a stupid-ass statement of what was happening here : _Sorry, I thought giving you my real name would be a great idea, but now I see that I've fucked up._

 

Because this was _not supposed to happen_ , Ash and Chris were _never_ supposed to collide, and now that they had, Chris’ worlds were blurring together, and he didn't know what to do.

 

Eiji Okumura belonged in _Ash's_ memories, to that misty, foggy morning on a sunlit wooden park bench, the heavy scent of coffee and the warmth of silly jokes enveloping them. Where they had learnt each other’s names and Eiji had accepted Ash without judgment, even after knowing that Ash Callenreese had possibly taken lives.

Had it been any random person, Chris wouldn’t have given two shits and they’d have been discussing places and names and timings by now. That Eiji could be a professional photographer had not crossed Chris' mind even for a second. He had assumed Eiji’s job to be something more mainstream, maybe something in the academia, or regular office work at a firm, or whatever.

But Eiji _had_ to be a photographer, and fate had to place him as Chris’ _work partner_. And apparently, he had flown in from across the world for that sole purpose.

Maybe, if they hadn’t met that morning, things could have still been different. But Chris found he didn't _want_ to trade their first meeting with anything else, not after he got to know what kind of a person Eiji was.

 

“But it’s complicated,” he stated simply, searching Eiji’s eyes for the shred of trust that he knew wouldn't be there; he hadn’t exactly given Eiji that chance. “I can’t tell you everything right now, but believe me when I say this, I _never_ told you a lie.”

 

Eiji turned to face him fully. “So you’re saying...that you’re _both_ Ash _and_ Chris? At once? Is _Ash_ an alias?” His voice was flat, inflectionless, but Chris didn’t miss the flecks of anger and hurt running just underneath.

“.... _Yes_ , in a way.” He stopped the urge to squirm under the critical gaze now levied at him.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Eiji continued stubbornly.

Chris felt his temper flare— at his own idiocy, his inability to keep facts and faces where they should’ve been in the _first fucking place_. At his own inner turmoil— rationality and emotion violently pulling him in opposite directions. “Well, I’m sorry!” he half yelled in frustration. “But that’s all I can give you at the moment.”

Eiji looked at him for a long minute, as if trying to parse out the situation, and Chris saw in his eyes the exact moment he relented, even if just a little.

“Okay… so, who else knows? Max? Ibe-san? Your _colleagues_?”

Even though he hadn’t come around fully, curiosity was starting to peek from underneath Eiji’s voice, and Chris felt his prickling unease melt away. He supposed Eiji had a right to know a few more things, He had already set himself up for it anyway.

“Max, yes, but no one else at this office. And not even Ibe-san.”

Eiji nodded grudgingly and looked away into the distance once again.

 

This side of the building overlooked a quiet neighbourhood. The evening was drawing close and fast. The warm reds and oranges of the vanishing sunset had melted away to blues and dark purples. It colored everything in a dreamy, in-between shade of day and night. Like the light tiptoeing away had halted in time, just to stay for a few more minutes, waiting for dark to meet it halfway.

 

“So, what do I call you now? _Ash_ or _Chris_?”

Even though Eiji was facing away, Chris felt the weight of the words settle in the space between them. He heard the challenging lilt in Eiji’s voice, as if he was _daring_ Chris to choose.

_As if it was just another option._

Chris felt his heart jolt against his ribs. _Ash or Chris?_ His past or his present? He had spent a decade trying to bury _that name_ and every painful thing that came with it, deep inside him. And suddenly, _here_ was someone , asking him to step up , to cross that line, to _choose_ to be the person he felt like, at least with them. _As if it was completely okay._

Chris felt his throat close up, and he was weak, so very weak.

 

He looked at Eiji in wonderment – his profile outlined against the inky ultramarine evening sky, the dark locks of hair ruffled in the cool summer air, the sturdy canvas bag slung across his shoulders and the brown folder, Eiji’s portfolio – a peek into his photographer’s mind and his world, weighing heavily in Chris’ own hands.

It was _stupid_ , and _risky_ , and the rational part of him was screaming at him to keep his mouth shut. But just _what if_ he could be Ash once again? Even if only in name?

 

“I dunno….what do you think?” he forced the words out, casually supporting himself over the railing, but inside, his walls were _shattering,_ and Chris was standing at the edge of a deep, foggy precipice, that was at once dangerous, but yet, calling out to him in a siren’s song.

 

Eiji trained his warm, brown eyes on Chris. There was a secret, mischievous glint playing in their depths as he tilted his head, like a curious child.

“How does sticking to _Ash_ sound?” he asked in a teasing voice. “You _did_ give me two names, and I think I have the right to pick whichever I want, even if it isn’t the correct one.”

There was one single moment of pause, when Chris let those words sink in. Let himself _believe_ , if that was even possible.

 

And then…. And then there was _Ash,_ who released a breathless laugh, as he hid his face away from Eiji in the dark.

Because at that moment, it felt like snapping off an oppressive, invisible weight from his chest, after forever.

It felt like loosening the acrid clamps from around his throat, that had stoppered his secrets deep within him for years.

It felt like breathing in the first gulp of air after being underwater for too long.

It felt a lot like..... being _free._

 

Ash turned back to face Eiji and said, “Sticking to _Ash_ sounds just fine.” 

 

 

*** * * * * * * * * * * ***

 

 

**A/N : D** o let me know what you think! I have a couple of ideas I want to explore in this story, so let's see how I can go about doing that. Also, next part is where the real plot of this chapter comes in, and there's also my lovely bean, Skip! I'll put it up within a couple of days :)

 Also, I recently figured out how to navigate [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/SilverQuill_27)  skdjsjsjsjs. Feel free to drop by and say hi! *^_^


	4. Chapter 4

                                                        

 

 

Ash ran his eyes critically over the pages, and said, “Hmm.”

Eiji was observing him from across the small table while sipping at his drink.

They were at a cozy bar a few streets down _The Obsidian’s_ address, to which Ash had dragged him, saying he needed to give Eiji the preliminary details about the case. Sitting in his own office wasn’t an option, because apparently “Even walls have ears, Eiji, and glass partitions such as these are fucking _ethernet_. You might as well broadcast your MO to the whole damn floor.”

 

So here they were, at a small hole-in-the wall establishment, which Eiji would have easily missed, if Ash had not shepherded him to the almost invisible entrance, and pulled open the grungy, wooden door with an ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

Skip, the young bartender (“Isn’t he a kid?” Eiji had whispered, to which Ash had replied, deadpan, “Look who’s talking” with another of his trademark shit-eating grins and Eiji had elbowed him in the side) served them their drinks, with a cheery “Hullo, Chris!” at Ash and a curious smile at Eiji.

 

“Hmm,” he repeated, looking at another page very carefully, hair falling over wire-rimmed glasses, face focused in attention. He looked kinda…. _cute_. Ash had volunteered to look at his portfolio, which he had so rudely rejected the first time. Eiji still had a ton of questions about the man, but as of now, he had decided to go along with…. whatever this was.

“So, _boss_ ,” he emphasised. “What do you think of this _underage kid’s_ work so far?”

It was the same joke they had shared this morning in the Park, and the irony of it wasn’t lost on either.

Ash looked up. There was a strange admiration mixed in with the humour shining his eyes, and Eiji felt himself flush with pride.

“The _boss_ thinks that you’re pretty decent at your job, Mr. Okumura,” he said, the comic tone of his voice at odds with the sincerity on his face. He flipped to a specific page and turned the folder to Eiji.

“Who’s this?”

The photo showed a young girl, in a yukata, praying with her eyes closed and hands folded, at a shrine. Her entire being was serene, a peaceful expression on her face. The reds and golds of the autumn foliage in the background contrasted with her pale blue outfit, and brought out the rosy pink on her cheeks. It was his sister, at a festival last year. The photo was one of his personal favourites among the ones he had taken of her so far.

 

 _How_ Ash had managed to single this one out from the twelve or so other portraits, Eiji would never know.

 

He felt his lips curl up in a smile as he answered back.

Ash nodded in understanding, “Ha, that explains it. You guys look pretty alike.”

He handed the folder back to Eiji and they finished their drinks in silence.

 

Ash seemed a lot more relaxed now, compared to this morning in the Park, or even in Max’s office a couple of hours ago. It looked like he had settled into the role of a work partner more easily after they had navigated through their last awkward conversation.

On the way here, Ash had grilled him on his willingness to take up the work, whether he understood the risks at stake and even unabashedly asking if he’d be upto the physically demanding nature of the work, since there would be a lot of legwork involved, maybe even running for their lives in potentially life or death situations (his exact words being _“Can’t have the elderly dragging me down in badly gone stake-outs, can I?”_ with a sneaky glance and an equally impish grin. Eiji had resisted the urge to punch him in the face).

Either Ash was very meticulous about the work-ethics of his colleagues, or he was chronically paranoid. Or in this case, maybe both, the balance tipping highly in favour of the latter.

And even though he had tried passing it off as a joke at that time, Eiji could detect the genuine concern and worry lurking underneath, and wondered just _how much_ danger they’d actually have to face.

 

 

At present, Ash was looking out into the busy night outside absently, chin resting on one hand. The dim ambiance of the bar highlighted his sharp features in a  dreamy, ethereal sort of way. Eiji found himself captivated. There was a perpetual somberness about his young face which contrasted with his ever present, alert, sharp gaze. Except when those jade eyes danced with wicked humour; in those moments, Ash was almost transformed into another being - vivacious and effervescent with _life_.

Eiji still couldn’t figure out what kind of a person he was. _Ash or Chris?_ Who _was_ he really? Does a name really matter? After all, just _how_ many façades could a person possibly _have_? His mind wandered aimlessly over woolly thoughts as the evening rolled on.

 

The bar began to fill up. Most of the patrons coming in were probably regulars, as Skip seemed to know them by name and greeted them cheerily as they entered. It must’ve been Eiji’s imagination, but the crowd looked a bit... _rough around the edges_.

There were frequent shifty glances between burly men with suspicious scars and tattoos, who threw slurs and jeers at their companions, or huddled in close groups, talking among themselves. Strikes of billiard balls could be heard from somewhere inside. Loud clangs of beer cans mixed with snatches of rough conversation and rumbling laughter; and all of it blended in with the dull, thumping beats of some kind of heavy music playing in the background.

 

Ash looked totally unfazed by all of it, engrossed in the screen of an ipad that he had pulled out from one of the endless pockets of his coat.

Eiji, on the other hand, wasn’t feeling very comfortable and continued surveying the crowd uneasily. For some reason, he was attracting a lot of curious glances— people’s eyes swept over Ash cursorily, no doubt used to seeing him here. Skip waved at him cheerily from the bar in the middle of serving drinks and Eiji tried to relax.

 

“Why’re you all tensed up like that? Not feeling well?”

Eiji jerked back to see Ash looking at him with a frown.

“Uh...no. Not exactly,” he huddled into his seat. “Bars aren’t really...my _thing_.” He squirmed some more because now Ash was looking at him weirdly.

Eventually, Ash cracked an assessing smile. “Bars aren’t your thing, or _this_ bar isn’t your thing?” _Damn._ He had gone straight to the point. “Specifically, the _people_ here aren’t exactly your _thing?_ ”, he continued, grinning crookedly at Eiji. _Perceptive bastard._

He considered pouting like a brat at Ash’s smugness. But he was twenty five. And civilised. So he said instead, “Why ask if you’ve already got me figured out?”, feeling very proud of his appropriately snooty voice.

Ash, being the _moron_ that he was, laughed out loud this time. He swept a glance over the room and sobered up.

“It’s places like these that have all the good stuff. And by _stuff_ , I mean _information_. Deals, trades, names, faces. The list is endless. You just have to keep your eyes and ears open. And know the right contacts. It’s how people like me stay ahead.”

The last part of his speech caught oddly in Eiji’s ears. _People like me,_ spoken like a subtle jab, as if Ash was derisively segregating himself from the rest of the population. Eiji wondered why a strange surge of protectiveness flared within him at that.

 

“Anyway, I’ve emailed you some of the files we need for the next step, which will be _you_ , visiting _these_ locations, starting as soon as you’re able.” He handed the ipad over to Eiji, indicating a list of addresses and pictures of buildings on the screen.

“Note them down somewhere, and remember to thoroughly memorise the building plans I’ve outlined.” He steepled his hands under his chin and looked at Eiji intently. “You might need to shadow people if required.”

Eiji gulped down his growing unease at the cryptic directions and started swiping through the pictures.

 

There was a commotion at the door as a large group came in. Eiji could hear Skip yelling out his greetings in his enthusiastic, childish voice, and he vaguely heard him call out something like “Yo! Evening fly”, which was…..one of the _stranger_ things that he had chanced upon hearing this evening.

But Ash rose abruptly the next moment, said _“Carry on”_ in response to Eiji’s questioning glance and headed over to the bar. Eiji saw him greet a rather eccentrically dressed man, with dark skin and a gaudy, cream colored suit, loud orange tinted sunglasses and a felt hat, both of which the man kept on, despite being indoors. Ash steered the man aside to one of the empty areas on the bar and began an earnest conversation, their heads bent together,

 

 _Well_ . So much for admitting to being nervous at a rowdy bar. For half a minute, Eiji desperately tried to signal his jitters by hurling pleading looks across the room at Ash’s back, which the man completely, and _very rudely_ , ignored. The jerk.  

He petulantly got back to his work after sometime, noting down stuff on his own phone.

 

 

A loud thunk in his immediate vicinity startled Eiji out of his thoughts. Skip stood there, grinning widely, holding onto two cans of chilled Coke — drops of condensation pooling around the metal bases onto the wood beside Eiji's elbow, where he had plopped them down.

“Hiya! Mind if I join?” Skip flashed a toothy grin, and offered him a Coke.

“Go ahead!”

He dropped onto Ash’s vacated seat, jerked his thumb in the direction of the bar, and began without preamble, “Are you a friend of his?”  

“Uh, no. I’m from work.” Eiji didn’t know how much information he could divulge if Skip started grilling him, because the kid looked like he was geared up for an enthusiastic conversation.

“Oh I see!” he said, not at all deterred by the short answer. “What’s your name? I’m Skipper by the way, the boys call me Skip.” He extended a hand importantly, which Eiji shook with a grin. He curiously wondered who _‘the boys’_ were.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Eiji. Eiji Okumura.”

Skip squinted at him. “You Japanese?”

 _Wow._ Okay, now he was in a _serious_ talk. Young Skipper was apparently well versed in East Asian ethnicities.

“How could you tell?”

“Oh I watch anime, you see. The name _Okumura_ came up a couple o' times.” Skip waved it away airily.

 _Huh, fair point._ Eiji was beginning to enjoy this conversation a lot.

“So, tell me, Eiji, can I call you Eiji? Okay, have you known the Boss for long?” And immediately, he flushed, and amended his question, “I mean…. uh... have you known _Chris_ for long?”

 _The Boss?_ Great. _Another name._ Or was it just a _nickname_ that Skip used, as a friend? He doubted it. But Skip was already looking so uncomfortable with the little slip that Eiji took pity on him. “Its okay, you can call him whatever you usually do,” he said kindly. “I don’t mind.”

Skip gave him a genuine, relieved smile.  

“And no, I met him just this morning.”

“Whoa! Just this morning? But I thought -” and he looked over to Ash with wide eyes. Ash spotted them just then, raised an eyebrow with an amused smile and went back to his conversation after a moment.

Skip continued his queries. “Are you from his office?”

“No, I came over from Japan to help out with his case. I’m a photographer.”

Skip’s frown deepened, and he leaned over to Eiji, whispering conspiratorially, “Wait a second, are _you_ the guy Boss said he was hiring on his…. _mafia case?_ ”

Now Eiji was the one at a loss. “You _know_ about that?” he whispered back.

“Dude! Oh my God! _You’re_ the photographer! _The_ photographer in…. _Dino’s case_? Boss has been talking about it with the boys for months! Whoa!!! This is big news!” Skip’s voice rose excitedly, and he consciously jerked himself back down.

“Okay, Eiji, so you also know..... _who_ Chris really is?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows meaningfully.

Eiji evaluated the odds in his favour. He had no idea how much Skip knew, or if it would be a mistake to confide in him. How much information did he himself _have_ to confide anyway?

Skip seemed to sense his doubts, as he piped up, “It’s okay Eiji! You can trust me! I’ve known the Boss for a long, _long_ time. I know _all_ about him already,” he said with a ton of confidence and an infallible pride, the kind only children could have about people they admired. Or hero-worshiped. Clearly, Ash was someone Skip held in very high regard. Eiji smiled at his enthusiasm.

He _could_ maybe say just a little bit. If his guesses turned out wrong, he would simply backtrack out of it.

“Well….uh….if by _‘who’_ you mean Chris and _Ash_ ….then, yeah. I just know the names.”

Skip stared at him with a fascinated wonder. “I see. And do you also know about the… the _thing_ he carries?” he asked, voice dropping to a whisper.

 _The thing?_ Was there _more_ ? The only _thing_ Eiji knew Ash carried was a gun. Maybe he also had a ninja suit underneath with secret strapped-on knives and mini-grenades stuffed in pockets. From whatever little he knew about Ash till now, nothing seemed impossible.

“I know about the…. _gun_ , if that’s what you mean? He showed me today.”

Skip’s eyes practically fell out of their sockets.

“Dude! Eiji! This is _HUGE!_ He showed you his _piece_ ? Holy moly….I don’t even know what to say!” And Skip clambered almost half over the table in excitement and got into Eiji’s face. “The last time a drunk tried to touch it as a joke, he lost his fingers on the spot! The Boss _never_ lets _anyone_ touch his piece!”

And okay, _that_ was a crucial piece of information Eiji now wished he had known this morning. He shivered involuntarily as mind went back to the Park - how Ash had seemed so defensive, coiled like a cornered panther, and Eiji had miraculously, convinced someone like _that_ to willingly hand over their... _protection_ , if you will.

He saw Ash knock his drink with the same man from before as they continued their discussion.

“Is he _that_ scary?” For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to think of Ash that way. Sarcastic? Yes. Acerbic humor? On point. Exceptionally observant? Hell yes. A little eccentric? That too. But _dangerous_? Not really.

“You have _no_ idea! Everyone is _terrified_ of him!” confided Skip, as if he was sharing a secret. “He only lets me get away with stuff because I’m the youngest, or so the boys say.”

“How do you know him anyway?”

“Well, you see, the Boss took me in when I was a kid-”

“Aren’t you still a kid?” Eiji couldn’t help teasing.

“Eiji, that’s _mean!_ I’m turning thirteen soon!!”

 _‘Turning thirteen’_ was apparently, Skip’s criteria for not being a kid anymore. Eiji suppressed a snort.

“So, anyway, the Boss took me in when I was _little_ , since I ran away from my foster home. My ma and pa both are in jail you see, so they put me in the system and I didn’t like them cuz they beat me badly, so I ran away. Boss picked me up from the streets, 'coz I was bleedin’ from a nasty fight with a hobo that night. And he talked to the foster people and made them keep me out of the homes and with him instead. He asked the boys to look after me and sends me to school too! I’m gonna go to junior high next year!” he finished excitedly, all in a single breath.

His face showed no tinge of regret or sadness, as if he had simply told a mundane story to a random friend.

Eiji, however, felt a pang in his heart. Skip clearly wasn’t hung up about a family, or his absent parents — Eiji figured that holding onto your past wasn’t an option if you wanted to survive the kind of life Skip had been through. He forced himself not to show sadness or worse, _pity_ , outward on his face, because this kind, jovial boy didn’t deserve that. He was happy now, and Eiji thanked the Gods, that it had worked out.

Not just Gods, but also, the man talking away at the bar, oblivious to this conversation. He took in Ash’s golden head, his coat clad back, his hand that was casually wrapped around the stem of a glass— and Eiji felt his chest tighten with a strange mix of admiration and gratitude. He suspected that a lot had happened behind the simple _‘talked to the foster people and let me stay with him’,_ which Skip was probably unaware of himself. Ash definitely had to pull a lot of strings at the right places to get Skip out of the system’s clutches. _You just have to know the right contacts. It’s how people like me stay ahead._

Whatever it was, he was glad Skip had someone like Ash to look after him, and whoever Ash might be otherwise, he was a far kinder person than a lot of people Eiji had known.

He reached over to ruffle Skip’s hair impulsively and Skip giggled. “I like you Eiji! And I think the Boss likes you too! You met him just this morning, and got not only his name, but _also_ saw his Smith ‘n Wesson?! I can’t wait to see what the boys say about that,” he said with a laugh.

“Okay, now my turn,” Eiji indicated Ash’s companion. “Who is that man? Do you know him?”

“Oh that’s Fly! He’s the one who supplies...uh….stuff...to the –” Skip looked increasingly sheepish and stopped abruptly.

“You’re not allowed to talk about that, I see.”

A faint twinge of irritation sprung up at the back of his mind. _Yet another_ possible secret. Logically, he knew that his suspicions were unwarranted. Ash had a total of zero obligations to tell him about his life. But even then, Eiji couldn't let go of the weird sense of attachment to Ash that these few hours of interaction had forged within him; couldn't ignore the compulsion to somehow get to know _more._ Regardless of what his curiosity unearthed at the end.

He felt as if he was slowly stepping into a bizarre world of hidden conversations and layered interactions— filled with half truths and dual identities. He wondered if he’d ever get to know the full extent of Ash’s secrets. By now he was almost certain that there were two _different_ worlds Ash roamed in, and Skip here, belonged to the second one. It felt like he was tiptoeing on the brink of both worlds at once.

At least the one good thing up until now was that, Ash had probably not _outright lied_ to him about the names.

 

If Eiji’s common sense wasn’t betraying him, Fly was some sort of arms dealer, as, at one point, Eiji had spotted him handing something that looked suspiciously like a gun to Ash and they had turned it over between them for a few moments, probably testing out the parts.

Skip noticed his dipping mood, and said comfortingly, “Hey Eiji! Don’t sweat it. I’m sure Boss will tell you all about it himself. He already told you a lot of stuff the rest of us got to know after _months!_ ”

Eiji didn’t really feel very reassured, but he smiled in reply anyway.

They finished their Cokes while Eiji worked through the remaining information.

 

Ash came back after a few minutes.

Skip jumped out of the seat instantly and said, “Gotta get back now Eiji!”

He raised a high five to Ash on the way back, and judging by the bewildered look on Ash’s face, it wasn’t a regular occurrence.

“What was _that_ all about?” asked Ash, settling back down. “What were you guys talking about, by the way? Skip tends to chatter away a lot, so it can really get to you sometimes.”

Eiji avoided the first question. “No, I don’t mind. He’s a good kid.”

 

Fly was nowhere to be seen in the room. The deal with Ash must've been concluded.

Eiji handed over the ipad, slouched back in his seat and fixed Ash under a careful look.

“So, this _Fly._ Is he a friend of yours? A very _interesting_ person by the way, from what I saw.”

He didn’t miss the way Ash froze for a second, his lips thinning out, eyes getting narrowed. _Oops_ . Eiji had crossed yet another line this time. _Like a dumbass._

But then, the harsh lines were mellowing out and Ash’s gaze turned sly. He peered at him over the rim of his glasses.

“I hadn’t pegged you as the nosy type, Eiji,” he said, lips curling up into a sneaky grin. “Be _this_ good while tailing those fuckers, and we might just hire you full time.”

Eiji let out a nervous laugh and dipped his head away, looking out onto the streets. He secretly vowed to be cautious with his words around Ash henceforth. At least until he had a clear idea _where_ their boundaries stood.

 

Ash’s phone vibrated, and he picked up the call with a relaxed smile. “Hey Shorter, how’s—”

 

A lot of things happened in quick succession after that. Ash’s face turned from happy to concerned to tensed to furious within a second. He stood up abruptly, bodily hauled Eiji out of his seat with an urgent _“You need to get out of here”_ and yelled for Skip over the din of the room, all the while listening to the speaker on the other end.

Within moments, he had dragged Eiji over to the bar, grabbed Skip aside and told him “It’s bloody _Arthur_ , that piece of _shit_ . Skip, hide! Both of you, quick!” Ash’s voice was high-strung and wild with adrenaline, and just at that moment, Eiji heard the distant rumble of multiple bike engines, maybe six or seven altogether, getting closer and closer to the bar. Someone burst through the entrance, and Eiji registered a flash of purple hair and a lot of yellow, before Skip was pulling him away urgently. Ash grabbed at his arm in the last second, stuffed the ipad into his grip, and said, “Whatever happens, _don’t_ fucking come out of there. I _mean_ it. You too, Skip. Stay out of this.”

Skip yelled, “You got this, Boss!” And then pushed Eiji behind a wooden door further down a narrow corridor at the other end of the room. He shut it behind both of them, plunging everything into total darkness.

 

Beyond the door, utter chaos broke out.

 

 

*** * * * * * * * * * * ***

 

 

 

A smelly mop dropped onto Eiji’s head and a heavy bucket toppled over onto his foot with a clang. Eiji yelped, “Ouch!!???”

Skip hissed at him, “Be quiet! I gotta go help Boss!”

He swiped past Eiji in the pitch black space and made a move to get out. Eiji blindly grabbed at his shirt and pulled him back. “No you can’t, Skip! Didn’t you hear Ash?! Stay put! There’s got to be another way we can do this!”

Eiji had witnessed bar-fights multiple times. But none like the one going on outside, judging from what he could hear. Sickening crunches of brute force on bones and limbs, thunks of blunt weapons hitting flesh, furniture hitting the floor, crash of glass, angry yells and curses flying around, and just now, an ear shattering sound, probably a gunshot, rang out over the din. Soon, one became many. _Too_ many to keep count, and Eiji tasted the first, acrid taste of fear creeping up at the back of his throat.

Skip cursed under his breath and fumbled around in the broom closet. He soon found what he was looking for and pulled at Eiji’s arm, jerking him the other way. Eiji’s forehead connected abruptly with a wood panel in the dark, and he saw stars. “OW!!!? What the fuck! Skip, a little warning?”

“Sorry dude! But hurry up!” came Skip’s disembodied voice, already a few feet ahead. Eiji ducked out of the closet, through a low wooden door, and landed on a narrow, rickety staircase, overhung with dusty cobwebs. Skip’s footsteps thudded upwards and Eiji followed him in the dark, his steps wild and wobbly on the old wood.

They reached a small room off one of the landings. The empty room, which was barely the size of a large closet, had a couple of boarded up windows, that allowed a dirty, yellow light to filter inside through the cracks. Skip rushed over to one of them, silently removed a tiny piece of ply and got ready with his box of …. _something_ , which Eiji just noticed he had been carrying.

“What are you doing?” Eiji asked, his voice shaky, feeling a little lost.

“Helping.”

Skip threw open the box lid. Inside, there was a neatly arranged pile of darts.

He grabbed one, took aim, and threw it with a deft flick of his wrist. Amidst the chaos going on downstairs, Eiji couldn’t figure out if the dart had had any effect. Skip settled into a rhythm and threw dart upon dart into the void beyond, his dark face silent and deadly in concentration.

Eiji went over to the other window, crumbled a rotting piece of board to make a crack, and peered through.

 

The scene he saw outside, curdled up his blood.

 

They were in one of the rooms that overlooked the main bar below, and from what Eiji remembered of the floor plan, this room was directly above one of the game-rooms downstairs. It faced the main entrance to the bar straight ahead, and the roads beyond them. The room wasn’t at the height of a proper second floor, more like a mezzanine.

In the open space below, a violent altercation was going on.

He spotted Ash in action for the first time ever : swift and deadly, and _utterly destructive_ . He did not so much _move_ as _blurred_ , limbs agile and strikes calculated, each aimed to deal a crushing blow to his opponents. _Where had Ash learnt to fight like that?_ You don’t get moves like those going up only against drunk idiots in back-alley fights. Ash rained down punches and kicks and strikes, and was a whirlwind of motion, his long trench coat forgotten on a chair, with only his black vest on. Eiji watched with fascination, his heart speeding up as his brain caught up with the palpable, extremely _real_ , danger of the situation he was witnessing. _Anyone could die_ , Eiji realised. _This_ is why Ash had sent him and Skip away.

Eiji saw a taller guy with a purple mohawk and a yellow gilet fighting alongside Ash, their movements coordinated seamlessly to have each other’s backs. He was probably the one who had burst in through the doors at the last moment. The thugs (patrons, patrons, _patrons_ ) from the bar had curiously joined in to help Ash in the fight, and for a few minutes, he couldn’t figure out the winning side.

 

Skip’s stun-darts were working wonders— they were swift, small and almost invisible, as they hit the brawling men on their arms, backs and necks, any part Skip could target, and within moments, they were out cold. The men looked up in confusion at the source of the darts, but their eyes flitted right over the hidden windows. Eiji supposed, they were sitting in too much of darkness to be spotted out easily.

 

He itched to help, in any way _dammit_ , and wracked his brains to figure out _how_ . He realised he was still clutching the ipad in his sweaty hands and opened his messenger bag to put it inside. It was _then_ , that his eyes landed on the camera he had been carrying the whole afternoon, and the idea hit him like a truck.

 

 _Faces, figures, and identities._ Of _people_ involved. _That_ was his job.

 

He whipped out the device, steadied his shaky hands and ignored the blood rushing wildly in his ears, adjusted the lenses, and within fifteen seconds, he was glued to the screen, recording everything in the highest possible detail. He zoomed in on the faces, especially the ones fighting Ash and the purple-mohawk guy, captured the faces of the ones who had been knocked out of commission, and then moved his view around to the open door and glass partitions of the bar, out onto the roads. There were a couple of other thugs waiting outside impatiently, even a fat man in shades peering out of a car, trying to get a look at the skirmish inside.

A voice below yelled, “Where’s that kid? The barten’?” and Eiji zoomed onto the man immediately. He heard Skip suck in a sharp breath and stiffen in place. His darts stopped. “Man, can’t see him anywhere!” a second guy yelled back. “Must've hidden somewhere, that little nigger rat!” He let out a string of curses when Ash zeroed in on him, definitely having heard their words. Ash made quick work of the two guys within a minute and they thunked back onto the floor, motionless, both sporting bloody noses and a gash on their heads.

 

Within ten minutes, sirens were heard in the distance. Someone had called the cops. Eiji wasn’t surprised. The number of gunshots in the last fifteen minutes was enough to wake up a fucking _army_.  

 

The fight broke off abruptly. The perpetrators, hardly five or six left of them now, dashed out of the doors and cleared off on their noisy bikes, yelling and cursing angrily among themselves.

The sirens were growing louder by the second. Ash looked up straight to the boarded window where Skip was sitting and called out “Get down from there, both of you!” And turned away to gauge the damage around them, the mohawk guy now furiously busy on the phone.

Skip and Eiji dashed down and Ash met them in front of the broom closet, away from the wreckage. His hands and face was flecked with blood, splinters of wood and dirt stuck in his hair, a gash or two or a _dozen_ ripping out the fabric of his vest. He hadn’t been able to get out of the fight totally unscathed.

 

He didn’t spare Eiji a glance, and instead, gripped both of Skip’s shoulders, leaned down to his level and said urgently, “Skip, listen very carefully. Arthur is on our tails, got it? Go to the den as fast as you can and alert the boys. Ask Alex to keep a lookout on the whole turf tonight. But first, take Eiji back to his hotel and _don’t_ let him get lost, understood?” Skip nodded jerkily, and Eiji could see on his face, how badly those men’s words had shaken him up. Why the heck would someone be after _Skip_ anyway? Eiji couldn’t fathom for the life of him. Ash noticed it too, and said in a soothing voice, “And hey, Skip? I’d _never_ let them get you, you hear me? You’re safe here.” He squeezed his shoulders reassuringly.

 

Ash locked eyes with him next, his gaze fiery and intense. Eiji resisted the urge to reflexively shrink back. This was Ash, the _leader_ , radiating absolute power and demanding every speck of attention of those he focused on. Eiji was beginning to understand some of the puzzle pieces now.

But all his brain came up with was, “Ash, you’re _hurt_...you need to fix those—” he blurted out weakly, indicating the numerous cuts and gashes on his torso.

“No fucking _time_ , Eiji! The police will be here soon.” Ash stepped close, took off the mysterious silver necklace from around his neck and pushed it inside his grip. Eiji wondered how the chain had managed to stay on, even through all that brutal fighting.

“Don’t lose this, you understand?” He emphasised, eyes boring into Eiji. “Keep it _safe_ , and _hidden_ . And also take care of the ipad– it has all the case data. We can’t have it falling into the wrong hands. I’ll meet you later. Now _go!_ ” He whirled around, ready to dash.

The police were already outside the doors, their eye-watering red-blue strobes flooding the dark bar-front, sirens on full blast.

“Ash!” he called back helplessly.

“Get away from here, Eiji! _GO!_ ” Ash yelled over his shoulders as he sprinted around the corridor, out of sight.

 

 

Skip pulled him away by the hand, and they went– running out through the backdoors, past the chicken-wire fence gates, through back alleys, over low fences, in and out of a maze of doors, scaling numerous rusty fire-escapes of unused buildings.

Skip had asked him the address just once, never pausing in his steps. After that, he seemed to know the route of navigation unerringly. Eiji’s mind had nearly blanked out. He followed Skip in a daze as they ran and ran and _ran_ through the soupy night, the darkness around him blurring and merging with the inky black sky overhead. Flashes of dazzling city light jarred his senses until his orientation of time and space fizzled away. Adrenaline fueled his every step, as if he was being chased with his life on the line, in some shitty parody of an action movie.

  
Somewhere in his overwrought brain, Eiji registered that they were probably running to safety, but he didn’t feel himself connecting to the reality of it in any way. Within fifteen minutes, or maybe an hour, they were on the crossing near Eiji’s hotel. Skip pointed him to the exact building, bid Eiji a _“See you later”_ and then he was gone— vanishing into the busy night crowd like an apparition.

 

 

 

 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * ***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....here's the second part of the chapter and personally, it's my favourite segment 'til now :D
> 
> Skip deserved better, and I'm going to protect him this time around. In my head, he is a CHAMPION at darts and Ash taught him the game personally. The idea of stun-darts was also his own, to use for breaking up the frequent drunk brawls at the bar. The gang made a special bunch of them for him and he keeps the stash at hand. I also HC that he's an anime nerd, don't fight me XD
> 
> Come [say hi](https://twitter.com/SilverQuill_27) or just drop by to ramble about BF anytime. :)
> 
> Also, my heartfelt thanks to all those who left comments and kudos! 
> 
> Do let me know what you think of this so far ! ^_^


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